No Handcuffs Allowed
by Aegismaiden
Summary: Serial bachelorette and LAPD detective Jocelyn Hart becomes infatuated with G. Callen when he turns her down because of his 'no handcuffs' rule. Through harmless flirtation, innocent advances, and a little bit of intrigue, the two begin to realize…they may be meant for each other after all. Callen/OC. Loose sequel to 'Promises'.
1. Chapter 1

Hey! This is the first chapter of my new story, No Handcuffs Allowed! It's a sequel of sorts, picking up at Kayla and Deeks's wedding, though you won't have to read 'Promises' to enjoy it.

Synopsis: Serial bachelorette and LAPD detective Jocelyn Hart becomes infatuated with G. Callen when he turns her down because of his 'no handcuffs' rule. Through harmless flirtation, innocent advances, and a little bit of intrigue, the two begin to realize…they may be meant for each other after all. Loose sequel to 'Promises'.

* * *

The wedding reception was in full swing. Sunset had passed, leaving an ambient orange glow along the horizon. Inside the large Italian villa, the small group of guests celebrated the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Marty Deeks.

For Jocelyn Hart, this was a celebration long overdue; a marriage she had a large personal stake in.

There was drama, a heavy dose of conflict, and true love laced through the happy couple's story, and Jocelyn had witnessed it all. She reveled in her triumph.

"Hart!" Deeks called across the room. "Dance with me, darling."

Jocelyn laid a hand on her chest, mockingly scandalized. "But what will your wife think?"

The detective twirled her before pulling her close. "I won't tell her if you won't."

"Even in marriage, you are still a scoundrel."

"What can I say? Every cure takes time." Deeks swept her around once again. "When are you going to find your cure?"

She threw back her head in laughter. "I doubt monogamy is in the cards for me; he'd have to be quite a man."

"So you amuse yourself with matchmaking."

"We both know my friendship with Kayla is more than just amusement."

The detective's smile faded for a fraction of a second as he lapsed into seriousness. "You saved her."

"We both did," Jocelyn replied modestly. "You built her up, I just pointed her in the right direction. She needed a cheerleader."

"Your friendship means a lot to her-and to me. I guess it's a good thing you never slept with me."

Jocelyn threw her head back into a full-bodied laugh. "I was getting around to you, I just met Kayla first.

I think I even called you the "hot blonde guy" during our first conversation. Still," she shrugged, "sisters before misters."

It was Marty's turn to chuckle. "So glad you had a moral compass back then."

She hip-checked him. "I'm getting better! I even promised Kayla I wouldn't sleep with any of your coworkers at the wedding."

"That's very big of you," he smiled condescendingly.

"Shut up. I don't sleep around as often as I used to. I've taken up running again, thanks to your wife, and I've become addicted to a number of TV shows. Besides, I have real friends to hang out with now, and they're so much more fun than the fake posse I used to run with."

"I'm glad; Andy needs an aunt to look up to, and it's better if you aren't a whore."

Jocelyn gasped dramatically. "I prefer the term semi-reformed slut."

"How indelicate of me," he teased.

The song blended into a new one, and Jocelyn embraced her friend. "Now stop wasting your time with me and dance with your woman!"

She slipped to the edge of the dance floor, watching Deeks capture Kayla once more. The other guests had taken to the floor: Andy with Claire, Callen with Hetty, Sam with Kensi, Eric with Nell. Everyone was laughing and chatting like the old friends they were. Despite her natural confidence, Jocelyn was quickly feeling like the odd man out. She retrieved a glass of champagne and contented herself to people watch.

Observation was something she was good at. Years in the society circuit had trained her to recognize subtle body cues, dissect clothing choices, and form opinions based on her deductions.

Of course, one didn't need to be trained in observation to see that the two technical analysts were smitten. Despite the lively music, Eric and Nell moved close to each other, touching more than necessary. Nell, spritely as she was, clearly had the upper hand. She teased and flirted without giving too much. This behavior had Eric wrapped around her little finger, following her movements like a lost puppy dog.

She could tell Sam was a married man, despite the lack of wedding ring. He held Kensi with familiarity but maintained gentlemanly hand placement. Kensi was enjoying herself, but Jocelyn knew from experience that she was probably stinging a bit. It was never easy attending a close friend's wedding while unattached yourself-especially someone as close as your partner.

The only unattached man in the room danced with his small boss. Jocelyn couldn't help but laugh at the sight. Hetty barely passed Callen's belly button, but held her dignity just the same. He grinned down at her, fondness coloring his ice blue eyes. Even as he spun her, she smiled, ribbing him about something. There seemed to be a mother to son undercurrent running between them, something Jocelyn appreciated.

Callen was definitely good looking. He wasn't overly fit; he moved with neither insecurity or overconfidence, both of which she'd seen far too often in her fellow officers. Indeed, an easy smile graced his lips, complementing his agreeable face. He was clean-shaven for the event and buzzed blonde hair topped his head. He would blend into the background of any event, be it a society event or a crowded street. She supposed that was ideal for his line of work, where anonymity was key, but as he turned his smile on her, she realized he would be branded on her mind forever.

"Kayla!" she called to her friend.

The bride came gliding over to her, beaming. "Yes, sweetie?"

Jocelyn wrapped an arm around Kayla, pointing her discreetly at Agent Callen. "Are you sure he isn't my thank you gift?"

Her impertinence earned her an incredulous look from Kayla. "You promised, Joce. No trysts with Marty's coworkers."

"It's just one night," she pleaded impishly.

"No," Kayla replied with the imperative air of a mother. "I can't come back from my honeymoon to find you've fucked Marty's career."

"I just want to fuck that guy over there."

"Keep it in your pants until Marty and I get back. At least then you'll be supervised."

"I've spent the past eight years supervising you kids. The least you could do is give me a night of fun."

"Drink some champagne, dance to the music, and go to bed-_alone_."

Jocelyn stuck out her tongue. "Fine, mother."

Kayla grinned, kissing her friend's cheek. "Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

Her gaze collided with the blue-eyed agent across the room once more. "I'll try."

* * *

The maid of honor was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman Agent G. Callen had ever seen.

Deeks warned she was a man-eater, but one glance at her and he didn't care. She'd hidden behind her bulky camera during the ceremony, but now that the sun had set, she looked like the female projection of the moon. Thick dark hair tumbled down to the middle of her back, styled to effortless perfection.

High cheekbones created alluring contours across her fair face, drawing attention to full lips and intense eyes. Somewhere between green and blue, they sparked with an intelligence not usually found in someone so attractive.

She danced around the reception, snapping photos. The idea of a camera pointed in his direction set him on edge, especially when that camera was in the hands of a civilian. Hetty didn't seem particularly worried, so he let it slide. Any woman outside the immediate circle of OSP agents who managed to get on this little vacation had to be somewhat trustworthy.

The bride and groom danced their last dance and disappeared to the honeymoon suite after a round of lighthearted teasing. The maid of honor headed to the terrace; Callen found himself tempted to follow.

* * *

The Italian night was breathtaking. The stars burned bright above their remote retreat, once the home to some arms dealers who managed to tick off NCIS. It was now in the custody of the federal government, and a makeshift wedding destination. Barely an hour ago, the adobo walls glowed orange in the sunset. The patio wall still held some warmth from the sun; she sat on the edge, looking up at the stars. Jocelyn was so busy tracing constellations, she didn't notice the agent standing next to her.

"You definitely don't get stars like this out in LA."

"Mmm," she responded absentmindedly.

Silence fell; he tried again. "I'm Callen."

"I know." The enchantress finally lowered her chin to look at him properly. Up close, those hybrid eyes were even more unnerving. "I'm Jocelyn Hart."

The name suited her.

"How do you know the bride?" His small talk was rusty, but champagne made everyone more relaxed.

Jocelyn smiled, remembering her and Kayla's meeting at the Police Academy. "Kayla and I used to work together."

"How long have you known Deeks?"

"I've known Deeks nearly as long as Kayla."

Callen's curiosity was piqued, considering Kayla's friendship with Jocelyn was over eight years old. "Wow. What was he like back then?"

"He was an incorrigible ass. He slept with just about anyone and didn't stay with one girl for more than a couple of days."

"Sounds a bit like Deeks' description of you."

Jocelyn laughed. "He called me an incorrigible ass?"

"No, he said you were a bit...loose."

"Delicately put," she allowed, "but correct. Existential crisis played a big part, and I haven't managed to shake that reputation since."

"Did you two ever..."

"Hell, no!" Jocelyn objected vehemently. A chuckle escaped her lips and Callen joined in. "Call me old fashioned, but I don't sleep with guys my best friend is pining after."

"That's very big of you," he condescended, though his eyes teased her. "I guess you're a pretty good friend."

She bit her lip enticingly. "I'm wishing I wasn't."

"Oh?" His eyebrows went up with interest.

"Kayla made me promise I wouldn't sleep with you. Something about wanting her husband to have a job when they get back."

Callen laughed heartily, his chest rumbling with the humor. "Did she now? It's nice to know the happy couple is on the same page."

"Hmm," she agreed. "They didn't used to be. I nearly lost my mind getting them together. Tonight is a time to celebrate, and my hands are tied."

He'd like to see her tied up.

"Well, while we're celebrating, would you like some more champagne?"

A little flirting seemed harmless enough. She smiled invitingly, running a hand down his forearm almost—but not quite—accidentally. "Sounds perfect."

A bottle and champagne flutes appeared from behind his back; Jocelyn realized he'd brought it with him.

"So do you take photos for a living?" he gestured to the camera at her hip.

"Oh, this?" She turned the camera in her hand as if she'd forgotten it was there. "No. I just love to record life. A friend told me once that life's too short. We need to capture every moment."

"No offense to your friend," Callen replied slowly with a small step closer, "but some moments are better experienced rather than recorded."

His words held a double meaning she desperately wanted to take advantage of. "I see your point." Her voice grew husky. "Some moments are better kept private."

The sea breeze tousled her dark hair; Callen gave into the urge to tuck a curl behind her ear. The motion aligned their faces; his fingers brushed her cheek intimately.

"That's something I struggle with," she admitted. "I want to remember every moment, every touch, every relationship. I want to have photos of people I love and burn one of people I hate."

Her eyes swirled from blue to green, sparking with hidden passion. Callen felt it radiating off of her; it pulled him even closer.

"You are unlike any woman I have ever met," he admitted, in awe of her.

"I'm more interested in you," she replied honestly. "Special agent extraordinaire Callen." Her eyebrows pulling together in thought. "Is Callen your first or last name?"

"Last name. Most people call me G."

Jocelyn stifled a giggle. "As in gee whiz?"

"As in the seventh letter of the alphabet," he clarified.

This time, Jocelyn did laugh. "Your parents named you after a letter?"

"I just don't have a full name."

His tone indicated a hidden frustration; Jocelyn hesitated before continuing. "I'm sure you answer this a lot, but how does that even happen?"

"My parents died before I was old enough to remember it."

That killed the mood, Jocelyn thought wryly.

"Well, if you don't have a name, I'll just have to give you one."

This is new, Callen mused. He quirked a brow in challenge. "You can try."

Jocelyn stepped back, far enough to look him up and down. He felt naked under her gaze, but she only bit her lip in thought. "You don't look like a George or Greg."

He didn't feel like a George or Greg.

"Gavin?" she tried. "Garrett?"

Callen shook his head.

Silence fell. Jocelyn continued to chew her lip, tempting Callen more than she realized. She released it with a triumphant gasp.

"I've got it!" she exclaimed. "Gabriel. Your name is Gabriel."

"Right," he laughed sardonically. "I'm an angel with a SIG-Sauer P229."

"I don't know," Jocelyn teased, "I can imagine you looked like a perfect cherub as a baby, all golden hair and blue eyes. I think it fits you."

"Gabriel Callen," he tried it out. It had a nice ring to it, if a bit formal. He'd never really thought about what he was like as a baby. No one lived to tell the tale and he preferred not to think about his parents, long gone.

"However," Jocelyn interrupted his thoughts, "I bet your parents called you Gabe."

"That sounds better."

Relaxing, Jocelyn offered him a supportive smile. "Do I have leave to call you Gabe?"

Their friends may be married, but neither party imagined they would meet again after this night.

"Why not?"

She offered him a pleased smile.

"From what I hear, you're no angel either."

"Oh?" Her lips curved wickedly.

"Deeks told me to steer clear." Even as he spoke, Callen took a step forward.

_Damn that detective_, Jocelyn cursed inwardly. Didn't he know that information like that was practically an open invitation?

She would like nothing more than to indulge his imagination; the energy emanating from the agent was intoxicating. Jocelyn had never been one to resist raw attraction, and a pull this strong didn't come around every day. Loyalty was important to Jocelyn, but would it really hurt to indulge a little?

"Well," she breathed, placing her hands on his chest, "Forbidden fruit always has the sweetest nectar."

Callen's eyes flickered to her lips, pink and inviting. She liked them in anticipation, fully aware of his intent.

"I wonder what it tastes like," he whispered darkly. Seduction didn't always come easy to him, but everything seemed to flow in her presence.

Jocelyn inhaled sharply. The breath pulled him in; dragging his lips down to hers.

Their bodies took bare moments to become acquainted. The chemistry of touch made it impossible to pull away.

One night stands were always Jocelyn's forte, but she hand't realized just out of practice she was. No one got the upper hand on her, ever. Grasping his shirt tightly, she deepened the kiss. He responded readily, tangling his hands through her dark hair. Need for control surged within her, and she mastered it.

* * *

He was kissing a complete stranger. Agent G. Callen was kissing a woman he barely knew-and he didn't want to stop. It had been a very long time since he'd let any woman this close. He was always careful, always cautious.

He never took the same road to work twice. Routine didn't exist for him; it was too easy to track. Too many friends fell into that trap and died. Even more fell for the classic femme fatale. It was an inescapable hazard of espionage.

So why was he kissing this beautiful enchantress after only minutes of conversation?

Never before had he met a woman so malleable to his body. She kissed like Aphrodite herself, with a heat he'd never tasted. It would be easy to sit her up on a hip-high pillar and take full advantage of her, but it was clear she took no prisoners.

A groan erupted from her throat—or was it his— betraying just how much power she had over him. She smiled into the kiss, nipping at his lower lip. In an attempt to regain control, he moved to her neck, placing kisses along the alabaster notch at her collarbone.

Chemistry sizzled between them, wicked thoughts raced through Callen's mind. How could he possibly stop now? Hands made their way to her hips; he pressed her as close as humanly possible. Clothes seemed unbearably constricting; his coat fell to the ground, the result of her nimble fingers.

Tomorrow, he would blame it on the moonlight, but tonight, he needed this more than air in his lungs...until he couldn't breathe.

"Fuck," he swore, breaking away. Forehead to forehead, dared not pull away. "How good of a friend are you?"

Jocelyn laughed wryly. "Unfortunately, I'm the most badass friend ever."

"Is that good or bad?" he panted.

"Mmm," Jocelyn mumbled against his lips. "Good for her, bad for you."

"That's terrible."

"It really is."

An idea dawned in Callen's mind, even as he kissed her jaw. "What if..."

"Yes?" Jocelyn asked, a little too eagerly.

"What if we get a drink once we're back stateside. After the honeymoon, of course."

"Bar or club?"

"Bar."

"Done."

They sealed the deal with a searing kiss.

"Damn," she breathed as she clung to him. "One of us really need to walk away, or I'll be breaking more than a few promises."

He nodded, darkened eyes gazing into hers possessively. Large hands slid to hold hers. "Until California?"

"Until California."

The agent turned and walked back inside the building, leaving Jocelyn wanting more...and cursing her loyalties.

Callen turned the corner into the hallway to find Sam smirking at him.

"Enjoying yourself, G?"

"Shut up," he retorted, too distracted to find a witty remark. His mind was still muddled by the dark-haired beauty on the patio.

* * *

Hetty looked down on the couple's not-so-private display of affection from her second-story suite.

"Oh, no," her friend and former coworker, Claire, chided the director. "I know that look."

"What look?" the small woman looked up innocently.

"That is the look of incurable meddler."

"I have no idea of what you speak."

Claire raised a skeptical eyebrow. A former NCIS psychiatrist, she knew better.

Hetty sighed, giving in. "Sometimes, this old woman gets tired of plotting terrorists' fate. Sometimes, it's nice to bring people together. Besides, who are you judging? You were the enabler for Deeks and Kayla."

"One and done. Don't go sticking your nose into other people's business. It messes with the status quo."

"Mr. Callen is like a son to me. Shouldn't I want his happiness?"

"You should leave him be."

"Pish," Hetty waved her off. "This is just a bit of harmless fun. Nothing to worry about."


	2. Chapter 2

Monday morning dawned too early for Jocelyn Hart. Cursing as the harsh sunlight seared her eyes, she tried to get her bearings. Jetlag from Italy took its toll on her body; she hit up the bars to cure the insomnia…and clear a certain NCIS agent from her head.

Head pounding, she rolled out of bed. The uniform hung in her closet, pristine due to the dry cleaner who collected and returned her clothes for her. Though she was a cop, she had grown up with the finer things in life, and her trust fund supported her independence.

She hated her uniform. Sure, it was a symbol of her position, but the bulky blue shirt and thick pants hid her frame. She supposed it was for the best. The sheriff had told her long ago that beauty only meant she wouldn't be taken seriously. Despite the barely veiled sexual harassment, she had agreed with him to a point. Tying her long hair into a practical chignon, she straightened her collar and rushed out the door.

A lot had happened in the past few months at the precinct. The shifty sheriff, father of her best friend and all-around slimeball, had taken his own life after kidnapping his grandson. Jocelyn, of course, had seen the whole thing. In the days that followed, he was replaced by a decorated new captain. The woman was tough and firm. She wasted no time setting the precinct in order, complete with a full investigation into the sheriff's death. She had asked to see Jocelyn first thing after roll call; another reason the officer was so nervous about her tardiness.

* * *

"Good morning, Sir," Jocelyn stood at attention and greeted the captain. Woman or not, she insisted on being addressed as 'sir'. It added an inevitable sense of fear and respect becoming of her rank.

"Good morning, Hart. Close the door."

Obeying, she secured the door and took the proffered chair.

"Over the past two months, you've shown a significant amount of leadership ability and productivity in the field." Captain Bradley shifted the papers on her desk, and Jocelyn realized they belonged to her file. "You've been here nearly nine years, yet you haven't been promoted above officer. Why is that?"

Jocelyn cleared her throat, proceeding diplomatically as she had been taught at an early age. "Your predecessor and I disagreed on key points, and I was held back."

"Yes," the captain mused, "I can guess, considering your friendship with his daughter."

"On the contrary, Sir. He said I was too pretty to be taken seriously."

The captain actually snorted, attempting to suppress her laughter. Composing herself, she regarded Jocelyn across the desk. "Is that what you think?"

The officer chose her words carefully. "At the risk of sounding conceited, I won't lie that my looks are a factor, but I would like to prove their effect one way or the other. I understand that strong women are intimidating, but that is no reason to hold me back. There is a lot of good I can do, and I want a fair chance to do it."

The captain stood, straightening her blazer. "Well said, Detective Hart."

At first, Jocelyn thought she heard wrong. "Detective?"

"You've served your time," Captain Bradley smiled. "You proved yourself with the Miles incident. Here's your chance to show me what you can do."

"Thank you, Sir!" Jocelyn beamed, shaking her superior's hand vigorously. "I won't let you down!"

Hangover be damned, this was the best day ever!

* * *

This was her last day in this shitty car, Jocelyn reminded herself. Sitting roadside, she aimed the bulky speed gun at a passing vehicle.

_61._ She let him go; she was in such a good mood.

It had yet to sink in. She was a _detective_! Tomorrow she would walk into the precinct dressed in a snappy blazer, hair and makeup done. She'd stomp the floor in heeled boots, commanding the attention of the room-herself for the first time since she'd started there. Maybe she could-

The gun beeped. _87_. Slamming the siren on, she pursued the offender almost gleefully.

* * *

The bullpen was a crowded collection if ancient metal desks, equally ancient chairs, and chaotic stacks of case files. The chief picked a desk out; the partner came with it. The chief had placed Jocelyn with Carlson as a challenge, she was sure of it. As much as she wanted to prove herself, the old man a stick in the mud; spending time with him was as exciting as watching hair grow. Her only recourse was planning his colorful and painful demise.

Carlson was one of the older detectives, a breed that tended to resent women on the force. He disregarded her capabilities, tasking her with reading closed cases. Not to be deterred, Jocelyn attacked the pile with eagerness. If she couldn't be out in the field, at least she could absorb as much information as possible. Jocelyn was used to the skeptical looks, and she knew better than to let Carlson's less-than-subtle digs get to her. Finally where she'd wanted to be for a decade, she felt invincible.

It took all of three days to land her first true case. The wait made Jocelyn impatient. She'd waited eight years to make a difference in the SVU, but it felt like eons before her number came up.

"Carlson, Hart!" the chief called from her office.

Jocelyn's head popped up from the rape case she was ready. "Sir?"

"You're up."

A flood of trepidation mixed with excitement rushed through her blood as the chief stood over them.

"Dispatch just called in a homicide in Coronado, drowned and castrated male."

Jocelyn resisted the urge to gag. Even Carlson shifted in his chair, crossing his legs.

"Castration means sex crimes! Get down there and check it out."

She didn't need to be told twice; her firearm was locked and loaded before Carlson even stood from his chair.

"I'll drive," he barked.

"Hart!" the chief stopped Jocelyn from bolting across the room.

"Sir?"

"You'll do fine."

The soft words were exactly what she needed to hear. At least someone in this godforsaken building was on her side.

* * *

It was worse than Jocelyn could have ever imagined. The first responders had already partitioned the scene off from the rest of the beach. The body lay in the middle, atop a tarp, already starting to stink in the midday sun. Limp and pale to the point of translucence, the victim looked more pathetic than the number she'd witnessed as an officer. He was, indeed, missing his genitalia; Jocelyn forced herself to look away from that particular area. The Medical Examiner pulled the thermometer out of the liver as they came to stand over the naked body.

"I'll do the talking," Carlson ordered.

Speechless, Jocelyn barely managed to nod.

"Hey, Rosie," he greeted the medical examiner.

The ME's head snapped up, suppressing a scowl. "Rose."

"Sorry?"

"My name-it's Rose."

"Eh," he waved it off. "What's the cause of death?"

"Well," she replied brightly, "the castration was postmortem, followed by the swim, but the stab wounds were antimortem."

"That means before death," Carlson clarified unnecessarily. Jocelyn allowed herself a roll of the eyes that Rose caught.

The body was incredibly gruesome; the body was swollen with water; the wounds were engorged and ugly. Jocelyn had grown up a blue blood,, but she doubted it looked quite like this.

"Time of death is between 10 PM and 4 AM."

"That's not particularly specific." Carlson growled in disbelief.

Rose nodded serenely, still smiling. "The temperature of the water messed with the liver temp."

The detective furrowed his brow, as if it was Rose's fault. Jocelyn wanted to slap Carlson for her, but the medical examiner kept her cool.

"There's one more thing." Jocelyn and Carlson leaned in as Rose turned the body onto its side, revealing a tattoo of the Navy seal. "He's Navy."

If possible, Carlson scowled even deeper. "That's the last thing we need."

He stepped away, running his hands through the halo of hair remaining on his head. Jocelyn was lost. "What? What does that mean?"

"It means NCIS, honey," Rose explained. A small device at her hip beeped. "Oh!"

"What's that?" She was free to ask questions with him gone.

"Mobile fingerprint scanner. Take a look."

"Ooh!" Jocelyn reached for it, reading the screen. "Christopher Porter."

"Click his picture to see his record."

Jocelyn did as instructed. "Ensign Christopher Porter, arrested once for...rape."

A lump formed in her throat; she swallowed it down.

"I guess that explains the castration," Rose sighed, pulling off her bloodstained gloves. "It says here the charges were dropped."

"That doesn't mean much. 97 percent of rapes aren't reported."

"Mmm," Rose agreed. "That's not really my area."

"It is mine." Jocelyn read further. "The victim's name was Alina Kirsonov. Where have I heard that name before?"

"That's the Russian Consul's daughter," Rose supplied. "I read about him in the paper the other day."

"I don't care what Carlson wants," Jocelyn vowed, "NCIS needs to take a look at this."

"Wow."

"What?"

"You don't strike me as the sort to hand over an investigation this big."

"No-I know them." Jocelyn's heart raced at the thought of seeing the team again. "They'd work with me."

"How well do you know them?"

A moonlit kiss flashed through Jocelyn's mind; her cheeks pinked. "Well enough."

"So you'll call them, then?"

There's the kicker. "I don't exactly have their number."

"That's fine," Rose smiled. "I'll do it. This calls for a special brand of NCIS agent."

* * *

It was never a good sign when NCIS received a call from the NYPD. Without Deeks, their dealings tended to be rocky. Deeks wasn't exactly well liked among his fellow officers, but his presence did lend a measure of credibility. Hetty called them together to order Callen's team to the crime scene. A victim with international ties called for a delicate touch; Callen, Sam, and Kensi were right for the job.

The August day was hot, the Coronado sun beat down relentlessly. Behind his sunglasses, Callen squinted down at the beach. Police tape encircled a wide area; police and forensics milled about the scene taking samples and marking evidence.

He flashed his badge at the nearest officer, stepping past the barrier. "Who's in charge here?"

The officer merely pointed to the thickest cluster where Callen assumed the body lay. The crowd scattered as he and his team approached, leaving one wizened detective behind.

"Agent Callen, NCIS," he introduced himself. "These are agents Hanna and Blye."

"Carlson," the detective responded in kind.

"What happened here?" Sam asked.

Carlson started to answer, but Callen was no longer paying attention. On the outskirts of the scene, holding a camera, stood a very familiar figure. He walked toward her, pulled by curiosity and inexpicable magnetism. She looked up, confirming his suspicion.

"Jocelyn Hart," he greeted with a wide smile. "What are you doing here?"

She grinned brilliantly and he took a moment to take her in. Jocelyn's black hair was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, a thin braid wrapped around the elastic. Her eyes were hidden beneath a pair of classic wayfarers, but he could still picture them. Her trousers and tee were a huge departure from the bridesmaid dress she'd worn at the wedding, but the royal blue suited her.

"I'm working this case!" she announced.

Callen was thankful for his sunglasses; his eyes went wide before dropping to the badge attached to her belt. "You're what?"

"This is my case," the detective repeated.

Of course it was. How could he have missed that? The camera in her hands wasn't her civilian SLR, it was an evidence camera, made obvious by the ring of flashes attached to the lens.

He felt numb, and stupid. "Why didn't you tell me you were a detective at the wedding?"

"I wasn't," Hart replied, beginning to feel his unease. "I was promoted on Monday."

Callen was saved from responding as Sam appeared beside him. "Hart! I heard we might bump into you."

_You knew?!_

To his credit, Sam shrugged off the accusing look from his partner. "What do you know?"

Jocelyn detailed the case, but Callen chose to fume. His eyes shot daggers at the detective's face, though she pretended not to notice. He stood there, watching her mouth move, but didn't hear any words.

It was an ugly mouth, he decided, much plump, much too pink. Her hair made her look like a goth. Her skin was too pale. _Ugly, ugly, ugly._

Hart finished talking.

"We'll take it from here," he announced.

Jocelyn's jaw dropped. "Like hell you will. This is my first case!"

"All the more reason," he declared. "This is an international case and requires a certain level of finesse that no rookie could possibly understand."

Sam managed to keep his mouth shut, despite his obvious disagreement. Callen nodded finally and stalked off to talk to Carlson.

Crossing her arms, Jocelyn watched the agent walk away. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Sam snickered at her choice of words. "You need a bed for that."

"Seriously?" she laughed. "No bed?"

The agent nodded.

"That explains a lot."

* * *

Despite her blatant dismissal, Jocelyn hung around the scene, waiting for the chance to confront Agent Gabriel Callen. It seemed unconscionable that he should write her off, especially after the kiss they'd shared. This was why she never told men what she did. They always freak out.

She liked her lips unconsciously, reliving their kiss as she'd done for the past couple of days. Her dreams promised her more...so had he. So why was he acting so odd? Just like the homicide, she would get to the bottom of this mystery.

Rose had left after calling NCIS, despite Jocelyn's pleas to the contrary. It seemed the ME would make a good friend—and an advantageous one at that. Now, after the agent's callous disregard, Jocelyn very much needed a friend.

She also needed a ride. Carlson refused to wait for her, taking the squad car with him. Determined to wait the agent out, she meant to catch a ride with the EMTs or another officer. One by one, they disappeared, leaving only the ambulance—and that was about to be loaded with a dead body.

* * *

"You're telling me you knew she was a detective?" Callen accused his partner.

"Of course!" Sam laughed. "Didn't you?"

"No! Do you really think I'd let another one of those...bitches…mess with me again?"

"All she did was kiss you. You're acting like she gouged your heart out."

"Maybe she did," Callen muttered.

Sam laid a hand on his partner's shoulder. "You're no drama queen."

"You know I don't date anyone with their own set of handcuffs."

"From what I can tell, she wasn't asking to date you."

"Well then, there shouldn't be a problem."

Callen growled.

"Come on! She's a friend, and this is her first case."

No." He raised a menacing finger. "Let her cut her teeth on a less sensitive case."

"Don't you poke me."

"Why? Do you bruise?"

Kensi appeared, tucking her hands into her back pockets. "Your favorite admirer is still here," she commented.

"We hadn't noticed," Sam snickered.

Callen glowered at his team. "I'll deal with this."

* * *

His target jumped to her feet as he approached.

"You're not leaving until we talk about this!" Jocelyn threatened.

She looked like a veritable siren, green eyes flashing in righteous anger.

_Ugly, ugly, ugly,_ he reminded himself.

"Agreed," he acquiesced, "but only if you can remain calm."

"Calm?" she asked incredulously. Her neck tightened; she lifted her chin aggressively.

Callen made a note never to ask a hysterical woman to remain calm again. "I asked you out for a drink, right?"

"Right."

"Well then, I'm buying."

The female whirlwind relaxed slightly, folding her arms and rocking back on her heels. "Why do I feel that this isn't leading where we previously discussed?"

"You really are a real live detective!" he growled sarcastically.

"Shut up!" Jocelyn scowled. "You're driving."

* * *

They drove to the nearby bar in silence; Callen found a couple of stools while Jocelyn headed to the restroom. "Can I get you anything?" the bartender asked.

"Two ice waters," Callen replied.

"And a Sam Adams," a cool voice interrupted. "Boston Lager, if you have it."

The agent turned to find Jocelyn-only she didn't look the way he'd left her. She'd lost the ponytail, letting her hair fall in windblown waves around her face. Her shirt, too, looked different, somehow, and he realized she was no longer wearing her blazer. Not only had she shed the layers, a fresh coat of lipstick plumped her lips that even now curved into an inviting smile. By all appearances, Jocelyn had no plans to make this easy.

"So," Callen began, "Why didn't you tell me you were a cop?"

"Because this happens." Jocelyn gestured between them.

"What happens?"

The detective huffed impatiently. "Most guys are intimidated by the idea of a female cop, so I keep it on the down low."

Callen's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I'm not intimidated," he defended. "I just have a rule about this sort of thing."

"What's that?" Jocelyn asked, crossing her arms.

"I don't date anyone with their own set of handcuffs."

"The strippers and magician's assistants must be heartbroken," she teased.

"Oh, I'm not," he grinned crookedly, "but I don't date law enforcement."

Jocelyn let out a hollow laugh. "Bad breakup?"

"That's not the point!" Callen was rarely flustered, but Hart exhibited a knack for inciting guilt for everyday beliefs and habits.

What is the problem? Because I'm pretty sure we hit it off at the wedding."

"That was before."

"Before what?" Her voice turned to ice. "I'm still the same person I was that day—and you seemed more than happy with me."

She was seduction itself, leaning on the bar toward him. He might have kissed her but for the righteous anger burning in her eyes.

"You were hardly the same person. I can't have some rookie detective chasing after me."

"And not chasing you. You're just afraid life will get complicated."

"Oh, I'm good with complicated; I'm just not the sort of person to go seeking it. Sex is a surefire way to complicate things."

"So is the not having it," she pointed out.

Callen laughed coldly. "I'm guessing you prefer to have it?"

"Oh, yes," Jocelyn smiled, coy and demure. "It resolves some of the sexual tension. All the 'what ifs' are gone."

"Well, the 'what if she's pregnant' is still there."

"Oh, I'm not Kayla," she laughed. "I have a bit more…experience."

The agent forgot himself for the briefest moment at the images conjured up by her words. "I'm sure I could keep up."

"Well," she sighed sadly, "it seems to be a moot point. As you previously stated, dating is impossible."

He blinked. "Exactly."

"Oh, come on," she enticed, "don't you ever break the rules?"

"Never."

_Lie_.

Jocelyn raised an eyebrow and shot him a look that would make any terrorist give up nuclear launch codes.

"Occasionally," he amended, "but not this one."

"Yet."

"Never."

"Fine. Never." She sighed once more. "But this?" she pointed between them. "This attraction isn't one you can control."

"You put a lot of stock in yourself."

Jocelyn raised her chin. "No. I'm confident and I have enough experience to know when two people are attracted to each other. There's no hiding from it, Gabriel."

He had to admit, such confidence was incredibly sexy. He couldn't think of the last time he'd met a girl so assured of herself. She was right; it wasn't an inflated ego. It was pure, unadulterated understanding of her body and needs.

The use of his pet name was irritating. Forcing himself to look past the flush of her cheeks and fiery green eyes, he stood his ground. "This isn't going anywhere. Deeks returns on Saturday and I don't ever need to see you again."

"We'll see about that," she shot back with words as sharp as the K-Bar tucked in his boot.

"Why is it so important that I like you?"

The detective shrugged. "Simple. Your misogynistic ideals need to be squelched."

"Is that your plan? Sleep with every man who offends you?"

"Why shouldn't I? They enjoy it."

"No wonder you have a reputation for sleeping with everyone."

"I beg your pardon?" Jocelyn arched a brow, her voice rising slightly.

"You must get offended just by talking a man. You probably save the cop bit for the final strike."

The detective bristled. "You're a pig."

Callen laughed. "Deeks was right."

"About what?"

"You are a man eater."

"Well at least I know who I am." Jocelyn was in his face now. "You don't even know your own name."

Callen knew better than to respond to the jibe, but it still stung. This woman was trouble, and every word reminded him of that fact.

The bartender appeared beside the couple. "Is this man bothering you?"

Jocelyn turned the full measure of her charm on the unsuspecting bartender. "No. He was just leaving."

Bowing jerkily, the agent smiled, turned, and left.

The door slammed behind him and Jocelyn let out the breath she didn't know she was holding.


	3. Chapter 3

Callen arrived at work the next day to find the team already assembled in the bullpen. Deeks stood center stage, recounting the events of his honeymoon with his usual enthusiasm. Sam and Kensi were amusing his penchant for storytelling, arms crossed with identical bemused grins.

"Callen!" Deeks exclaimed as the team leader dropped his bag. "You have to see the photos!"

Callen looked over Deeks's shoulder to Kensi. Her eyes were wide; she shook her head vigorously.

"Pass."

"Aww, come on! Joce takes amazing photos! _I_ take amazing photos!"

"How many are there?"

"Counting the honeymoon? A thousand."

He swung his surprised gaze on Deeks. "A thousand? Hard pass."

"How about the one hundred Jocelyn sent?"

"How about this?" Callen clapped Deeks on the shoulder, addressing him like the overexcited kid he was. "Pick one favorite photo and show it to me."

"Right!" He exclaimed. "Let me just..."

Deeks trailed off as he scrolled through the thumbnails, sitting on the edge of his desk to concentrate.

"That should keep him busy for a while," Callen muttered to Sam, who laughed silently.

Eric's whistle echoed in the room, calling the foursome to OPS. Kensi, Sam, and Callen stood immediately, heading for the stairs.

"This one!" Deeks exclaimed, trailing behind them distractedly. "No...this one!"

They assembled in the dark room, standing at attention as Eric addressed them.

"As you know, LAPD discovered the body of a Navy John Doe yesterday. Our friend Jocelyn Hart called it in, turning the investigation over to us. Facial rec pulled our victim up as Ensign Christopher Porter, assigned to the USS JOHN C STENNIS out of Coronado. Here's where it gets interesting: Ensign Porter was accused of the rape of Alina Kirsonov, daughter of the Russian Consul, just last week, but the charges were dropped at the victim's insistence."

"Why would any rape victim drop charges?" Kensi wondered aloud.

"Fear," Deeks spoke up, proving he was paying attention even as he perused his photos.

"She's the daughter of a consul. If anything, Porter should fear her."

"Maybe she wanted to dispatch him herself," Sam offered.

"If that's the case, that makes Alina Kirsonov the prime suspect."

"Yeah, but she's got diplomatic immunity," Kensi lamented. "It'll be hard to get close to her."

Hetty appeared behind them. "Ye have not because ye ask not," she supplied sagely.

"This one!" Deeks called triumphantly, shoving the tablet in front of Callen's face. One disapproving look from Hetty, and his hands dropped. "Right. Dead guy."

"As this is a sensitive case, Granger wants to be kept apprised of the situation. Callen, you will be partnered with the assistant director. Sam, you're with Kensi."

Callen deflated like a sixth grader partnered with the class dork. "Why me?"

"As team leader, you should be happy to work with the assistant director," Hetty pointed out.

The team leader's disdain for the gruff bureaucrat was no secret. Their core philosophies on how the team should run were polar opposites, but the power struggle always went to the man behind the desk.

Deeks's head shot up. "Wait, what about me?"

"You have paperwork to fill out. I let it slide for your honeymoon, but I won't be putting you in the field until it's complete."

"It should be pretty simple," Deeks gloated, "I shot the sheriff, saved the day, got the girl."

Eric began singing, "I shot the—"

"—DON'T!" Callen and Sam cut him off simultaneously.

"We've heard enough of that song for a lifetime," Callen finished.

"Mr. Deeks, if you ever want to wield a gun again, you will fill out those reports," Hetty ordered rigidly.

Deeks folded his arms and pouted, heading for the stairs like a dog with his tail between his legs. Callen smirked at his hunched backside.

"Of all your our people, Deeks seems to be the baby of the family."

Hetty stared Callen down for a moment before looking beyond him to Eric. "I believe Mr. Beale holds that position."

In his usual uniform of flip-flops, cargo shorts, and baja hoodie, Eric did seem like the baby of the group. Thankfully, his partner, Nell, managed to lead him where he needed to go.

Eric caught them staring. "What?"

Laughing, Callen nodded to Hetty. "Agreed."

* * *

Resigned to the fact he was stuck with Granger, Callen watched helplessly as Sam and Kensi prepared to leave for the Russian embassy. Granger was in a meeting with SECNAV and couldn't be interrupted, so he was forced to stay put. Nothing irked Callen more than idleness when there was a case to solve.

"Don't be so sad," Deeks clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "At least now you can look over the wedding and honeymoon photos."

Callen threw a desperate look Sam's way, but his partner only smirked.

"Have you picked a favorite?" He sighed.

Deeks fairly jumped with excitement. "Yes. This one."

The detective shoved the tablet into Callen's hands gleefully. He humored Deeks despite his foul mood, but the photo had his attention in one glance. It was good, he noted—fantastic, even. Jocelyn had captured the couple perfectly, their bodies silhouetted by the Italian sunset. The couple was forehead-to-forehead as the groom grinned down at his bride. Kayla's eyes were closed blissfully, bottom lip caught between her smiling teeth.

"You're right," he nodded, "that is good."

"Do you want to see another one?" Deeks asked.

Callen smiled tightly. "No thanks."

Deeks took the tablet back and retreated to his desk. Callen mimicked him out of habit, but his body threatened to jump and run at any second. This was a high profile case, and as leader, he wanted to be sure his people were protected. He had always been thorough, but no one would ever label him a micromanager. With as long a career as he'd had, this team meshed the best of the lot. He trusted them with any task.

Until Sam, Callen had preferred to work alone, but five years with a persistent Navy SEAL as his partner all but shook that out. He was a lone wolf at heart; it took a strong bond to resist the impulse to break away at the first sign of trouble. Of course, he felt the need to face certain dangers alone for the safety of the team-usually whenever his past reared its ugly head.

"So I hear you and Jocelyn had quite the altercation at the crime scene yesterday."

Callen snapped back to the present. Deeks was being nosy as usual. On any other day, he'd nip any gossip in the bud, but he was bored. "You could have warned me."

"What was I to warn you about? You hit it off so well at the wedding."

His eyebrows shot up. "And I thought you were too preoccupied with your bride to notice."

"Oh, I was. It's Kayla who has eyes like a hawk."

"I suppose I should thank her."

"Why?" Deeks asked suspiciously.

Callen crossed his arms, leaning back in an attempt to look nonchalant. "Apparently, she forbade Jocelyn to sleep with me until you got back from the honeymoon."

"Hah!" Deeks threw back his head and laughed. "Yet another reason for me to love my wife."

The agent smiled tightly.

"So why haven't you tapped that now that I'm back?"

"Oh, I don't tap anything. I'm classier than that."

"Or as classy as a man can be without a bed," Deeks supplied, realizing too late that he'd pushed his luck too far.

"I say it's your fault for not telling me she's a cop."

"What difference does it make?" Deeks asked indignantly. "I'm a cop."

"You and I aren't viable sexual partners—unless you're offering." Callen tweaked an eyebrow invitingly.

The detective chose to back off. "I'm good."

"You need to remember I don't date cops as a personal rule."

"Is that from experience?"

Once again, the Deeks toed the line. Sidelined by the junior agent, Callen had less patience than usual. He shot Deeks a withering glance, effectively silencing him on the subject.

A shrill whistle pierced the air.

"Callen!" Eric called. "Sam and Kensi are there!"

The agent was up the stairs in a flash.

"What is it, Eric?"

Every screen in OPS flashed a different camera feed, mostly traffic cameras from outside the embassy. There would be no surveillance inside the building; embassies were considered sovereign soil to whatever country's flag waved out front.

Audio was up. Both Sam and Kensi had earwigs pressed deep into their ears, allowing for sound to flow to and from the scene. They had made it past security, announced their credentials, and were currently walking to the consul's office.

"Agents Hanna and Blye from NCIS, sir."

"NCIS?" the man answered in a Russian accent so thick, Callen wished he'd been speaking actual Russian; it was easier to interpret. "What can I do for you?"

Sam took point. "We're here investigating the death of an Ensign Christopher Porter. We understand he allegedly raped your daughter and wondered if we could speak to her about the incident."

"Yes, Porter," the consul replied with controlled detachment. "When did this happen?"

"Tuesday night."

"And why would you need to speak to my daughter?"

"In light of his death, we thought anything she knew might help us find who did this."

"She's refused to speak to your police officers. What makes you think she'll talk to you?"

"Because if he did rape her, his death means he can't come after her any more."

"Yes," Kirsonov nodded. "Sadly, Alina is unwell and cannot leave her room."

"That is a shame," Kensi remarked, allaying her suspicions for the moment. "When is a good time to speak with her?"

"She will not speak to anyone, but should she leave her room, I will let you know." He paused. "Do you have any suspects?"

"Not at this time," Sam replied carefully. "It might have been a revenge killing; we're looking into other possible rape victims."

Kirsonov let out a breath.

"Sir, we have to ask this out of procedure. Where were you between 10 PM Tuesday and 4 AM Wednesday?"

"Are you insinuating I killed Porter?"The accent grew thick as Kirsonov bristled.

"We're just trying to eliminate suspects."

"Did you just call me a suspect? I am a consul and I have diplomatic immunity."

The interview was taking a turn for the worse, and there was nothing they could do to alleviate the tension. Sam and Kensi knew the moment he pulled the diplomat card, they were done.

"We're just covering all our bases, sir."

"Get out!" he spat. "Get out and don't come back until you have the real killer behind bars!"

The doors slammed behind the agents as they crossed the threshold.

"That could have gone better," Sam muttered.

"We'll have to find another way to talk to them-especially Alina," Callen chimed in.

"How?" Kensi asked. "It's not like we can accost them on the street. Kirsonov was two seconds away from calling in a departmental complaint."

"Wait up, G," Sam whispered. "I've got a picture coming through for you."

An image popped up on the screen.

"Holy shit," Eric swore.

A tablet, in what looked to be the assistant's arms, displayed a week of the consul's activities.

Callen grinned widely. "Sam, you're a genius."

Most of the items listed involved meetings with high ranking officials on the Embassy grounds, but one event stood out.

"What about that one?" he pointed to Friday evening.

"The Hart Foundation Gala?" Eric hit a few keys; an invitation and a few new stories appeared.

Nell spoke up. "It is a yearly international charity event taking place at Ethan Hart's home in San Diego."

"And Ethan Hart is..."

"A rich guy who helps people spread their money around all sorts of charities."

Callen stared at the house. "Philanthropy pays well, I guess."

"Indeed it does," Nell replied, pulling up his file. "Hart is divorced with two grown children: Evan and Jocelyn."

The agent froze. "As in the Jocelyn Hart?"

Click. Jocelyn's service photo appeared next to her father's headshot.

"The very same."

"I have to talk to Hetty."


	4. Chapter 4

It was a dream. It had to be. This bullpen was more beautiful than Jocelyn could have imagined. No wonder the security guards stared her down when she flashed Hetty's summons. Any LAPD officers who caught a glimpse of this place would never want to leave.

"I know, right?" A familiar voice whispered over her shoulder.

In her awe, she hadn't noticed Deeks approach. "It's amazing," she breathed.

"Just wait 'til you see OPS."

The detectives mounted the stairs, Deeks leading the way. Twin doors slid open to reveal the dimly lit room. Once again, Jocelyn found herself speechless. The far wall was obviously a huge computer display, littered with photos and reports that, at the moment, meant nothing to her. A row of computers lined the wall to her right, with two to her left. A large square display table filled the center of the room, around which stood Eric, Nell, Sam, Kensi, and Callen.

The latter glared suspiciously at her drawing her to speak.

"What am I doing here?"

"You are here because of a unique asset only you can provide."

Jocelyn wracked her brain for what that talent could possibly be.

"Your familial connections," Hetty answered in reply to the detective's bewildered face.

Embarrassment mixed with defiance. From her days at the academy, her past was a well-kept secret. Only the most crucial people knew of her wealthy connections, society upbringing, and teen years scattered across the tabloids. She was already enough of an oddball in the precinct; she didn't need more teasing regarding her privileged life. Every iota of respect she'd worked for would be shattered.

Jocelyn's chin rose, a defiant mannerism to distract from the turmoil within. "What does my family have to do with this?"

"Are you familiar with Consul Kirsonov?" Hetty gestured at the screen.

"Not personally."

"Mr. Beale, if you please," Hetty relinquished the floor to the tech wizard. "And start at the beginning for Mr. Deeks's sake."

Eric stepped forward, swiping his tablet to manipulate the visuals. "Two days ago, your team-" he nodded to Jocelyn "-discovered the homicide of a Navy Ensign on the Coronado beach."

Crime scene photos scattered across the screen. Jocelyn cringed inwardly; it was not a sight she wished to revisit.

"The body was identified as Ensign John Porter of the USS MOBILE BAY, a man accused of the alleged rape of the consul's daughter."

The Ensign's ship photo was pushed to the side of the screen; the crime scene images removed.

"How does this apply to me?" She glanced around the room as she spoke, once again unnerved by Callen's unrelenting glare. "You removed me from the case."

"Earlier today," Hetty spoke again, "Ms. Blye and Mr. Hanna went to the embassy for a visit with Ms. Kirsonov's father. They were met with hostility and barred from speaking to Alina. However, Mr. Hanna managed to get a shot of the Consul's schedule which includes the annual Hart Foundation Gala."

Jocelyn's face paled involuntarily. "And you want me to go to the gala to interrogate Alina?"

"Simply put, yes."

"I haven't been back home in years!" Jocelyn's excuse was weak, but she had to try.

Hetty nodded knowingly. "Yes, but you won't be going alone. If you had something to offer your father, he might welcome you with open arms."

"Like what?"

"Like a fiance-one who can make it appear like you're reentering society."

Jocelyn stifled a laugh, even Deeks raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"And who would take on that role?"

"Why, Mr. Callen, of course. Or Gabriel Kent, as the case may be."

The detective glance shot to the aforementioned agent. This bombshell was news to him; his jaw went slack in shock.

"Why can't Sam do it?" he protested.

"Mr. Hanna is already known to the Kirsonovs as an NCIS agent. They've never met you before."

"What about Deeks?"

Deeks put his hands up. "I have no desire to play fiancé to my wife's best friend."

Jocelyn looked to him accusingly.

"No offense."

Jocelyn smiled. "I don't think my father would take kindly to me marrying a homeless surfer puppy dog."

Deeks's jaw dropped in mock insult.

"No offense."

"Mr. Callen is the perfect candidate. Despite their differences, they share an innate chemistry that is necessary to convince her father the match is real."

Hetty's tone brooked no further argument. The match was decided. The woman gently herded Jocelyn to Callen's side and joined their hands. The familiar sensation streaked up her arm. Similarly affected, the agent dropped her hand as if burned. His ice blue eyes widened as they met hers, echoing the suppressed emotions boiling beneath the surface: attraction, revulsion, lust, and trepidation. But just as quickly as they registered, his eyes eyes slid away in cool detachment.

The silent exchange didn't go unnoticed by the hyper-observant occupants of the room.

"I trust you will be able to work together," Hetty asked, the edge in her tone daring them to disagree.

Jocelyn swallowed but nodded, Callen mimicking her.

"Good. I request that you contact your father this evening to secure two tickets to the gala. Once that is sorted, you can leave. Report back here at 0930 sharp."

With that, she exited the room.

Kensi, Nell, Eric, and Sam shuffled from one foot to the other uncomfortably, afraid to meet Jocelyn or Callen's gaze. The tense current hung in the air until Deeks cleared his throat.

"Best wishes to the happy couple," he exclaimed, opening himself up to both Jocelyn and Callen's icy glares.

The spell broken, Callen bolted from the room without a second look. Sam offered Jocelyn a small smile before rushing after his partner.

"G!" the call came beyond the door, the rest of the conversation out of earshot.

Jocelyn must have been biting her lip, because Deeks squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry about him. He'll play his part when the time comes."

Even Kensi smiled encouragingly. "He's right. If there's one thing Callen can do, it's this." She gestured widely, indicating the whole of NCIS.

"Thanks," Jocelyn sighed, pulling out her cell phone and stepping into the hall.

* * *

Callen was fuming. _Engaged_? To that lying...beautiful…_bitch_? He unclenched and clenched his fists as he descended the staircase. The urge to stomp was overwhelming, but he still had some pride.

Hetty's lair was located next to the stairs. Like any ruler, it was decorated with an antique throne, Persian rug, and, of course, a large collection of rare teas and teapots. Though she didn't have a door, it was always open in the proverbial sense. Of course, "knocking" required a lot of courage. Of all the team members, Callen had the most access.

He stood before her, but before he could open his mouth, she cut him off.

"Problem, Mr. Callen?" she looked up from above her cup of tea.

"Are you sure Hart is our only way in?" he asked, less confident than he appeared.

"Do you have any ideas?"

"We could get just me or Deeks on the list." The plan was thin, and he knew it.

She quirked an elegant eyebrow in his direction. "Come now, Mr. Callen, you can do better than that."

"She's untested and untrained—hardly the sort for this kind of mission."

"She's a decorated officer, and the most qualified to infiltrate high society of any of us."

A sigh escaped his lips; his hands fell to his side in defeat. "Does it have to be her?"

"Is engagement to Ms. Hart really that terrible?"

Callen pursed his lips, shifting uncomfortably. "You know my aversions to commitment—even if it isn't real."

"But for the sake of the mission…" she trailed off.

"I am willing to sacrifice," he finished the thought, nodding in submission.

"And you can be professional?"

"I will be if she is," the surly agent replied

She set her teacup in the saucer with a final clink. "Well then, that's settled."

He stepped back.

"Mr. Callen," Hetty called after him.

Callen's eyes shot up in annoyance. "Yes?"

"Don't forget your ring."

The agent took the proffered box and stuffed it into his pocket without a second look.

"Mr. Callen?"

"Yes?"

"That's a vintage Harry Winston. Don't lose it."

"You'll have to talk to Hart about that."

The moment Callen was out of earshot, Sam showed his face. "I see what you did there."

Hetty glanced up at the dark agent. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Come on," he cajoled. "We both know the 'engagement' is unnecessary."

"Possibly," she admitted, "but it is the most credible entrance for Mr. Callen."

"I'll pretend to believe that."

* * *

If she was going to make this call, Jocelyn needed to be alone. The once massive center now felt stifling and claustrophobic. She needed air, but the windows were all sealed and leaving meant heading through security's probing stares. It had been a long time since she'd felt so much like a child, so insecure, so…inadequate.

A large window cast a thick slice of light through the shadowy hallway, drawing her to its warmth. It was cut into wall; she curled her knees to her chest in the seat it created. In truth, it had been eight years since she'd cut ties with her father without a word, and now she had to conjure a way into her father's annual gala the day before the event. She gazed out the window, wishing for a view, but all she saw was the concrete walls surrounding the compound.

There was no security the number hadn't changed, but Jocelyn dialed it all the same. It rang three times, her heart skipping a beat at every tone.

Hello?"

Jocelyn's reply caught in her throat.

"Hello?" he repeated.

"Father?"

"Lynnie?" Shock colored his voice. The nickname cut straight to her heart, sending her back to her pampered childhood full of kisses and love. He always called her after Irish middle name. "Lynnie, is that you?"

"Hi, Father," she breathed.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she assured. "That's not why I'm calling."

"Then why are you calling? Because, frankly, it's been a while."

"I know Evan's been filling you in on everything. You feed on information."

"Maybe," came the gruff reply.

"So how much do you know?"

"You were just promoted to detective. You live in San Diego. Your doorman's name is Emmett."

Jocelyn smiled. It was no secret her father kept tabs on her. She and Evan had decided which information could be passed on and what should be kept between siblings. "Right on all counts."

"So why are you calling?"

"Because I have some new information I figured you needed to know firsthand."

"Oh?"

"I'm engaged!" Jocelyn injected as much joy as she could into the announcement.

"To who?"

"His name is Gabriel Kent."

"What else? Where does he work? Where was he born?"

These were not questions Jocelyn was ready to answer. "I'm sure he'll be happy to take part in whatever interrogation you have planned for him," she teased.

"Do you love him?"

Jocelyn leaned forward, catching a glimpse of Callen relaxing at his desk. Despite the stress of the day, he was smiling at Sam. Warmth spread through her at sight of his open grin, crooked and full of mischief. "Yes."

"So when do I get to meet him?"

Glancing skyward in thankfulness, Jocelyn sighed. "Actually, I was wondering if I could bring him to tomorrow's gala."

Her father hesitated; Jocelyn chewed her lip in worry. "Fine," he replied finally. "But I insist you two spend the night. I want the chance to get to know your fiancé—and you."

The implications of her father's words were not lost on her. Jocelyn knew she wouldn't be able to escape scot-free. They would argue, but she couldn't run away this time. Not while the case depended on her keeping Callen free of suspicion. Maybe a fiancé was just the offering she needed to repair her relationship with her father.

"I look forward to it!" she exclaimed with false cheerfulness.

I'll have Anna set up a room for you. Of course, you'll have to come here to get ready. Then you and Gabriel can stay the night. We can get to know each other the following day."

"Sounds good! I'll see you tomorrow."

"Lynnie—" his voice was tinted with warning. "—we will need to talk."

"Yes, Father."

Jocelyn hung up with a sigh.

* * *

"And then the shark bit off my left arm," Sam continued, bemused grin on his face.

"Mmhmm," Callen nodded absentmindedly. His gaze was fixed on the tiny form sitting in the window. Usually so straight and confident, it was unnerving to see Jocelyn so timid. She was curled into herself, chewing on her lip as she often did when concerned. He'd only been in her presence a few days, but he was acutely attuned to her mannerisms. A necessary skill, he told himself; if he was to be engaged to her, he should know those things.

Emerald eyes flickered to his; her pale cheeks flushed with awareness of his stare. Jocelyn grinned weakly and flashed a thumbs up. They were in. Her chest collapsed with a sigh and she turned to gaze out the window once more.

"G! G, are you even listening to me?" Sam's annoyed voice cut through Callen's thoughts.

He blinked at his partner. "Sorry, what?"

Where you at?"

"I'm here. I'm fine." He mustered up an unconvincing grin.

Sam nodded to Jocelyn's window. "She really got to you, didn't she?"

Callen opened his mouth to object but thought better of it. He exhaled loudly. "Yeah."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Absolutely nothing."

* * *

The night was dark before Jocelyn made it out of the compound. There were countless details to work out. She was thoroughly exhausted by the end.

"Hart?" he asked as she walked past him.

"Yes?" Maybe, just maybe he would smile at her. Just once.

But no, his eyes avoided hers. "See you tomorrow."

They exchanged an awkward glance and parted ways.

* * *

She didn't relax until enveloped in the safety of her car. She pounded the steering wheel in frustration. There had to be someone she could talk to—anyone.

Kayla! She was back from her honeymoon now.

"Ohmigosh!" Kayla answered the phone, excitement boiling over. "It's you!"

"It's you!" Jocelyn shouted back, her friend's spirit lifting her own. "How was your honeymoon?"

"Fantastic, but we can save that for another time. Marty just informed me of your happy announcement." Jocelyn could picture the sly smile on Kayla's face. Nothing got past this girl.

"Shut up."

"Seriously! You're fake engaged to the infamous G. Callen!"

On any other day, Jocelyn would be the one gushing. "That's what I need to talk to you about."

"Damn right it's what you need to talk about!"

Kayla!" Jocelyn exclaimed a little too sharply. "I'm fake engaged to a man who can't stand the sight of me and now we have to pass it off to my father as true love."

"Wait—Callen hates you?"

"It's a long story."

Kayla gasped. "You didn't."

"Didn't what?" Jocelyn replied as innocently as she could.

"Did you?" Kayla accused.

"What?"

"Did you sleep with Callen at the wedding?"

"No…" Jocelyn trailed off, wondering if she could let the half-truth stand. "We might have shared a kiss…"

"Jocelyn Hart! I specifically told you to lay off any of Marty's coworkers!"

"Does it help if I say he kissed me first?" She resisted the laughter bubbling inside her; Kayla was entertaining when upset. "Besides, I was the one who walked away."

"I still don't understand why he hates you. Usually, men…like you, especially those you've kissed."

"Yeah, well this guy wasn't too pleased to find out I was a cop. Apparently he has a rule against dating—or sleeping with—cops."

"So he hates you?"

"Seriously, when are you going to get that point?"

"I think he might like you."

Jocelyn laughed. "I think the Italian sun went to your head. Besides, people only act like that in kindergarten."

"So what is this about a gala?" Kayla changed the subject. "It seems rather…fancy…even for you."

Jocelyn shifted in her seat. Not even Kayla knew about her family. "Yeah…my father might just be Ethan Hart."

"Wait—how do I know that name?"

"Because he's attached to every 'it' charity there is."

Oh, that Ethan Hart!" she replied in recognition. There was a pregnant pause. "Why did you never tell me?"

"I'm not particularly open about my past."

"I just thought we were close." The betrayal in Kayla's tone stung. "I mean, you know everything about me."

There's the sensitive Kayla I know and love, Jocelyn thought, despite the knowledge she was in for it.

"I was just so focused on helping you that it rarely came up."

"Don't you blame me," Kayla threatened in her most maternal home. "I feel like I barely know you."

Jocelyn punched the steering wheel. "And I promise I will tell you everything after I fake my engagement and lie to my father."

"We both know you're good at lying."

_Ouch_. "Honey, I just need some advice, then we'll have a nice, long talk over a much-needed drink."

Kayla exhaled into the phone. "Fine."

"I've wracked my brain looking for some way to get through to Callen, but he still won't even look at me. I need to talk to him before jumping in headfirst."

Well," Kayla hesitated, still deciding whether or not to help her friend, "My mother always said that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"I'm not about to knife him, sweetie."

"It doesn't mean cutting him, it means feeding him."

"You know I can't cook."

"Then get creative!" Kayla ordered. "You'll think of something."

"Ugh," Jocelyn groaned. "Fine."


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm going to _kill_ Deeks."

"Hi," Jocelyn grinned sheepishly, standing in the door of Callen's suburban home, holding an In-N-Out bag and a six-pack.

Callen's lips formed a tight line. "What are you doing here?"

The detective shifted on her feet and he noticed her appearance. She was dressed down—way down—almost as if she was trying to make herself unattractive. The distressed jeans hugged her curves purposely; he almost wished she would turn around just so he could see her ass. Instead of her usual fashionable shirt, she wore loosely knit sweater. It was so large, it threatened to expose one of her slim shoulders. Her luscious long locks were pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail, her features virtually devoid of makeup. Her goal, of course, was impossible. The mere attempt to detract from her beauty only made her more attractive.

"I bring a peace offering." She hefted the In-N-Out bag.

He blinked at her. "Come again?"

"Look," she sighed, "I don't agree with your reasons for disliking me, but we're bound to cross paths again. I need you to play nice."

"You don't strike me as the sort of person to care what people think of you."

Jocelyn laughed dryly. "Trust me, I'm not."

"So why is it so important to you?"

"Because we're kind of engaged!" she answered after a short pause. "And a wise friend once told me that good food can solve any problem."

Callen smirked knowingly. "Kayla?"

"However did you guess?" she laughed. "I can't cook worth a damn, but I brought you a meal from one of my favorite restaurants."

Unbidden, his mouth began to water. "For me?"

"Yes. Just be sure to eat it before it gets cold." She handed him the bag and turned down the walkway.

_Damn it, her ass really did look great._

"Hart?" he called after her.

She turned, ponytail swinging behind her. "Yes?"

"Why?"

"I told you; it's a peace offering!" she waved her arms lightly. "Look, I respect your rules and I won't push you. After tomorrow, I'll even make sure another detective handles the NCIS related cases."

Callen's face relaxed. "That won't be necessary."

Then I'll be seeing you." Jocelyn graced him with a small wave before turning again.

"Hart?" he called again.

"Callen?" she stopped.

"Care to join me?"

The request surprised her. She approached Callen slowly. "Love to."

Even though he had invited her in, Callen seemed uncertain as Jocelyn crossed the threshold. The motion was not lost on her. It felt as though she was stepping into his inner sanctum and she was only three feet past the door. He shut the door behind her and she wished she hadn't come.

"I don't exactly have a table," he stated. It wasn't an apology, but it was as close as he would give. "The kitchen is this way."

"That's fine." She spoke to put herself and her host at ease. "We can eat at the counter."

"I don't have any chairs either." If he was trying to shock her, it wasn't working.

"Wow," she allowed herself a laugh, "Sam wasn't kidding."

Indeed, the house was as Spartan as indicated by Agent Hanna. The scrubbed wooden floors were uncluttered by furniture, the white walls were as waxen as the moonlight they reflected. An army-issued duffle, stamped with the letters G CALLEN was perched in the corner of what might have been the living room, a small roll of woolen blankets tucked beside. The only decoration to be seen was a small wooden box perched on the white mantle.

The sound of Callen emptying the bag drew her to the kitchen.

"Beer?" she offered.

"I don't have a bottle opener."

Jocelyn made no comment, but selected a bottle of beer and slammed the edge of the cap on the counter.

"Necessity is the mother of invention."

"So, what do we have here?" he asked in an attempt to distract himself. "Burgers and fries? You do know how to spoil a man."

"Well, I figured it was the least I could do for seducing you under false pretenses. I had been told off you before I even spoke to you; I don't usually like to mention the badge and handcuffs on the first date."

He furrowed his brow comically. "I can't imagine why."

The tension between them melted away as they sipped the beer. Jocelyn leaned against the counter.

"Truce?"

Callen hesitated. She could see the cogs turning in his head as he weighed the pros and cons.

"Truce."

The agent extended his hand; Jocelyn squeezed it firmly before releasing.

"So, now that we're engaged, we should probably share a few basic facts."

"Well, that's not exactly true," Callen pointed out. "I'll be there under an alias."

"Oh?" Jocelyn raised her eyebrows, mischief sparking in her ivy eyes. "So I can make you anything I want?"

"Well, aside from my name and job, it doesn't really matter."

"So you get to be my perfect man?"

"I _am_ your fiancé."

Jocelyn gestured to the living room. "Well, my fiancé definitely has a bed."

Callen nodded in amused agreement.

Let's see…we've been dating for a year and a half, during which time you wined and dined me with the best of them. You would take me to Paris on the weekend, where you have an apartment in view of the Eiffel Tower. I help you wind down after a long day of charity work, where we return to our shared penthouse and two dogs."

"Is that seriously your ideal man?"

Heat flushed her cheeks. "Not exactly…that's the man I dreamed up when I was thirteen."

"So who is your actual ideal man?"

The question was a bit personal, but she was describing his role after all. "I want someone…charming. He doesn't have to be perfect. If anything, I want an imperfect man. A man who makes mistakes and accepts mine. He could call me on my bullshit and I could do the same. We'd fight, and we'd argue, and we'd have mind-blowing makeup sex."

She could feel herself getting carried away, but she didn't care. There was something about those blue eyes that made her feel like she could say anything without judgment. It didn't always mean he always cared, but here, in this moment, she felt as though she could say whatever came to mind.

He grinned crookedly. "Not sure I can be all that."

"Don't worry," she remarked, "it's a working description."

"What about you?" He leaned against the counter. "Who am I engaged to?"

Jocelyn stood up straight and tossed her hair proudly. "You are engaged to none other than the illustrious Jocelyn Margaret Hart II: newly promoted LAPD detective, former socialite, and fashionista."

"One of those things is not like the other."

She rolled her eyes. "I get that a lot."

"So, Margaret, huh?"

"Yeah," Jocelyn looked away. "My mom's name, so everyone calls me Jocelyn. Or Hart, in your case."

"Are you close?"

"Not exactly." She bit her lip. "She left when I was 17."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks. It's been so long I've gotten used to it."

"What about your dad?"

"He's like any other high-powered CEO and philanthropist: focused, dedicated, and cutthroat. He loves to throw his money around; it doesn't always matter where. But he does love me."

"I'm confused. You've got this loving, caring family. How can you waltz through the door, new fiancé on your arm, no questions asked?"

Jocelyn pulled herself up to sit on the counter. "We haven't exactly spoken in a few years. It's nothing they did, I just associate home with a lot of bad memories."

She pursed her lips and Callen knew better than to pry; he changed tactics. "What are they going to say when you show up after such a disappearance?"

Hopefully?" she screwed up her face. "Welcome home, honey. So glad you could make it to another stuffy gala."

* * *

"No, no, no," Hetty stood in front of Jocelyn shaking her head. "This won't do."

"What?" Jocelyn looked down at her carefully selected outfit in confusion. Unable to sleep, she'd emptied her closet looking for the right armor. She was desperate to exude the confidence she so severely lacked for the return home, and the black jean-and-leather ensemble was just the ticket. "What's wrong?"

"Come with me." The odd director led Jocelyn to a room filled with racks and racks of clothing.

Many of her high school boyfriends had been actors, so Jocelyn had seen her fair share of wardrobe warehouses, but it had been a while. Hetty flipped through the racks, ultimately selecting a pair of mint-green skinny jeans, pale pink blazer, and off-white lace top. On any Spring day, Jocelyn might wear that outfit, but she was not in the mood for pastels. To her consternation, Hetty handed the clothes to the detective.

"What's wrong with these?" she asked, gesturing at her outfit once again.

"It isn't right for your character."

"But I'm going as me," Jocelyn objected.

"No, you're going as the newly engaged, newly promoted society philanthropist Jocelyn Hart."

She had a point. Jocelyn smiled through gritted teeth, took the clothes, and stepped into the dressing room.

"You know, it's best not to argue with her," Callen's voice filtered through the curtain.

"I'm sure I'll learn my lesson eventually," Jocelyn smirked, pulling on the jeans. They fit like a glove, she noted begrudgingly.

She pulled back the curtain to find Callen leaning against the threshold. The morning light cast an orange halo around his head. He looked more handsome than ever; Jocelyn suppressed the impulse to lick her lips.

"Now, Mr. Callen…" Hetty reentered the room, her gaze snapping to Jocelyn. "Yes, that will do nicely. You can select a pair of shoes from that wall there."

Like a magpie to shiny things, Jocelyn fairly leapt over to the collection of designer shoes.

"Now, for Mr. Callen," Hetty started again. "I'd say we put you in Hugo Boss."

Jocelyn's ears pricked up. "I hate to interrupt," she mused, returning to Hetty's side, "but I think Tom Ford would be right for him."

The women appraised the man before them.

"Yes, I see your point," Hetty agreed, fingers on her chin, "Strong lines will bring out his shoulders and hips."

"I feel like the prize horse," he commented.

"You're hardly a prize, Gabe," Jocelyn remarked loftily, "but we work with what we have."

Hetty spoke up. "Tie or no tie?"

"No tie. I think it speaks to his nonchalance and _joi de vivre_."

"Still feeling like an animal."

"Oh, it's a compliment, angel!" Jocelyn smiled sweetly. "Now go get dressed."

Trying not to look as embarrassed as he felt, Callen stepped into the dressing room. Jocelyn returned to the shoe wall, selecting a tan leather espadrille. She'd just managed to slip it on when Callen appeared.

"Damn."

Two surprised heads swiveled toward her.

Jocelyn blushed red to the ears. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Yes," Callen smirked, only adding to his charm.

Hetty fussed around him, tugging at the slate-colored suit here and there. "A good suit," she stated as she worked, "is to ladies what beautiful lingerie is to men."

"It's true," the detective answered Callen's bemused look with a mischievous one of her own. It was fun to mess with him. "It's also why we like men in uniform. They show off muscles, nip in at the waist, and cup the butt so perfectly."

Despite their truce, Jocelyn couldn't help infusing her own innuendos into the conversation. It would serve him to get used to it if they were to play the happily engaged couple.

"You should have seen Cary Grant in _North by Northwest_," Hetty mused, "Now that was a fine ass in a fine uniform."

Jocelyn stared at Hetty in shock then glanced up at Callen. The agent quirked an eyebrow at her and flashed a knowing smile.

"You knew Cary Grant?"

"She knew everyone," Callen interjected. "Hetty has been everywhere, done everything, and met everyone."

I've hardly met everyone," Hetty replied with a touch of pride at Callen's praise. "But you, Mr. Callen, look ready."

"What is he wearing to the gala?"

"His tux is being altered as we speak. It will be ready by tonight."

"What are you wearing to the gala?" Callen asked.

"I'd like to wear one of my own dresses," Jocelyn chimed in.

Hetty looked at her appraisingly. "Is it black?"

_Yes._

"I'm not sure," she hedged. "I still have a closetful at home."

Hetty only smiled enigmatically and shuffled out of the room.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Callen exclaimed, disappearing into his dressing room for a second.

He reappeared a moment later holding a tiny blue box.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked in anticipation.

He popped it open, revealing the largest ring Jocelyn had ever seen. Despite the knowledge this was all a ruse, her heart still stopped at the sight of the handsome man holding Harry Winston diamond ring.

"Marry me?" His slight smile made it all the more adorable.

"I don't know…" she smirked mischievously.

He lowered himself to one knee, offering the ring as if to the queen. "Jocelyn Margaret Hart?"

"Yes, Gabriel?"

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my fake fiancée?"

Jocelyn pressed a hand to her chest and breathed deeply. "Why, Mr. Callen, I thought you'd never ask."

The silver ring slid up her finger perfectly; she worked to hide the hitch in her breath when his hand squeezed hers. Even Callen seemed slightly affected by the contact. He cleared his throat and stood.

"So!" Jocelyn exclaimed a little too loudly. "I'm heading over to my dad's house after this, and I'll see you at 6 PM. The gala starts at 7, but we should probably debrief before heading down."

He nodded in the affirmative, his hand still holding her shaking one.

"Everything's going to be okay," he assured her gently.

Jocelyn looked skeptical. "Really?"

"Really."

* * *

The house was just as grand as Jocelyn recalled it. Three stories (not counting the extensive wine cellar) stretched across the grounds, each wing with its own purpose. The entrance, of course, led to a tall foyer complete with ornate wrought iron chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The dining room, sitting room, and breakfast room split off on either side, leading back to the ballroom doors. The east wing was the living wing, where the guest and family bedrooms resided. The west wing was the recreation wing, including a billiard room, her father's private study, her mother's art studio, and indoor pool. The grounds were even larger, holding two tennis courts (indoor and outdoor), an outdoor-even stables for her father's horses.

For anyone else, it would be a palace. For Jocelyn, it was a menagerie of memories and regrets. Despite the familiarity of its decor, this house would nevermore be considered home. She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

"Lynnie!" The squeal of the housekeeper washed over her and Jocelyn found herself wrapped in the arms of the family housekeeper, Anna.

"Anna! It's so good to see you!"

"Nonsense." The Hispanic woman shot her a scowl, and Jocelyn felt thirteen again, scolded for sneaking cookies from the kitchen. "If it was good to see me, you would have returned long ago."

Jocelyn opened her mouth to object, but the energetic housekeeper only continued. "But that doesn't matter now, does it? You're engaged, and you've come home."

"She would be home if you would let her through the door," Jocelyn's father's voice echoed in the cavernous hall.

"Stop being so grumpy," Anna rolled her eyes at her employer.

"I just haven't seen my daughter in years!"

Anna moved aside as the man of the house stepped into view. He'd aged well, she noted. Gray hair now streaked his salt-and-pepper mane. His thick eyebrows and prominent chin spoke to his strong Italian heritage. His hobbies of tennis and riding kept him well fit, and he still dressed in a suit-even in his leisure time.

"Hello, Father," Jocelyn greeted with a large grin.

"Don't just stand there! Let me look at you!"

He pulled her across the threshold, twirling her as if she were ten years old.

"Father!" She protested weakly as she regained her balance.

He caught her left hand, peering at the ring on her finger.

"Good heavens, what a glacier! He must love you; he spent a fortune on this!"

Jocelyn blushed with the secret that the ring hadn't cost Callen anything. Thankfully, her father took it as modesty.

"No need to be shy, darling. Any man who brings you back into my arms is a worthy man indeed. When do I meet him?"

"Don't worry, Father, he will be here before the gala. He knows that us women take a long time to prepare for these things, so he'll be here at six."

"Excellent, excellent. Anna can show you to your room. I hope you don't mind, but I've set you up in your old bedroom. You will, of course, be sharing with Gabriel."

"That's not necessary—" Jocelyn tried, but her father wouldn't hear it.

"I have no illusions that you two don't already sleep together. Why separate for appearances?"

"I suppose." Jocelyn didn't mind sleeping with Callen; in fact, she wanted to. It was the agent who would object to the arrangement.

"Now! I have to tend to the preparations, and you need to start the ritual."

"Pardon?"

"You know the drill! Facial, massage, waxing, the whole nine yards!"

Goodness. It had been a while since she'd been pampered quite this much. She'd meant to sweep the ballroom before the event, but she knew there would be no arguing with her father. Jocelyn had mere moments to dash into her room and slip into a plush robe before handing herself over to the beauty team.


	6. Chapter 6

"Shit," Jocelyn cursed as she pulled the shoulder of her gown up once again. A straight-off-the-runway design, it was gorgeous-but too small. She hadn't worn any of these dresses since high school, and, though her size and height hadn't really changed, her chest had.

_Knock, knock._

_To hell with it all_, she decided, opening the door.

Callen stood in the doorway.

"Hi," she greeted the agent. "Ready to go to war?"

"Well, you certainly look ready for it."

Her eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The matte black dress hung from her body like it was made for it. It hugged every curve effortlessly, falling to the floor but not touching it. Its only decoration was a gold and black beaded stripe, stretching up one long sleeve, across the straight neckline, and down the other arm. Her long raven hair was pulled back into a severe bun.

"I mean," he swallowed, wishing he was invisible under that glare, "that you look like you're dressed for a funeral...or some sort of Amazonian battle. Is that armor on your shoulders?"

Jocelyn adjusted the beaded shoulder appliques. "No, it's fashion. You wouldn't understand."

"I just think-"

She shot him a look of challenge.

He tried again. "I just think you should dress like you're happy. You're engaged! You got a promotion at work...get the picture?"

"Will people please stop telling me what or who I am?" she sighed in frustration.

Callen quirked a single brow.

Damn him, he was right. "Fine."

"Good, because I think Hetty might kill me if you didn't wear this."

The agent produced a garment bag.

"Do you know what's in here?"

"No, Hetty gave me specific instructions not to open it. Apparently I'd wrinkle it."

Jocelyn took the dress and disappeared back into the walk in closet. Callen took the time to glance around her room. It was decidedly a high schooler's room, from the silver bedspread to the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling. Miscellaneous clutter was arranged haphazardly on the desk, dresser, and windowsill. He smiled at her collection of Polaroid cameras, complete with snapshots of friends, birds, flowers, and dresses. One picture seemed more special than most, a photo of what appeared to be 17 year old Jocelyn with a woman he assumed was her mother.

"Is this better?" She asked, emerging from the closet.

His jaw went slack for a moment, but he quickly corrected himself and cleared his throat. It took him a moment to catch his breath. The last dress had been nice, but now she looked stunning. The deep blue fabric was gathered and draped strategically across her body, cinched at the waist with a thin, beaded band. The neckline plunged into her cleavage, making a spectacle of her ample breasts. The long sleeves of the previous dress were gone, replaced with delicate cap sleeves. The skirt flowed over her hips, fluttering to the ground. She might trip on the hem, were it not for the incredibly high heels on her feet.

"Can you give me a hand?"

He blinked for a second, trying to catch her meaning through his fuzzy brain. She turned away from him, giving the agent an eyeful of her back. The dress zipper was completely undone.

"Oh! Right!"

Callen could take apart and assemble an assault rifle in under 20 seconds, his sure fingers going through every part from memory, but those same fingers fumbled against her alabaster skin. Jocelyn inhaled sharply on contact, and he froze.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." She turned to look at him. "Your fingers are cold."

It was a little thing, but the goosebumps that appeared on her back made it feel like a travesty. Finished, he patted her back gently.

With a sigh, she loosed her hair from the bun and combed it through with her fingers. The bun had provided loose curls and volume. A quick twist and a few bobby pins and she was done. Her hair now draped over one shoulder, guided across her neck and passed the open back of the dress by strategically placed pins. Though it looked ready to spill down her back, he knew it would hold.

"How do I look?"

"Good." _More like magnificent._ "You look good."

"Good," she sighed in relief. "It's been a while since I've gone to one of these shindigs."

For the first time he could remember, she actually looked nervous. And for good reason, Callen realized; she was going undercover as herself.

"Oh!" Callen exclaimed as he pulled a small black box from his coat pocket. "I almost forgot."

The box opened to reveal two tiny comms. Jocelyn sighed dramatically in mock awe.

"Oh, Gabe, you shouldn't have! Most guys would get their date a corsage, but I never dreamed of matching earwigs! I knew I agreed to marry you for a reason."

Callen smiled in spite of himself, stuffing his own comm deep into his ear. Jocelyn did the same, as easily as if she were adjusting her earring.

He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Looping her arm through his, she flashed him a dazzling grin. "Lead the way, lover boy."

* * *

Outside the doors to the banquet hall, Jocelyn held Callen back for a moment and released a shaky sigh.

"Just give me a second."

Silently, he reached over and squeezed her hand. "You don't have to do this."

She smiled softly at him and squared her shoulders. "Yes I do."

The doors opened, and they were immediately immersed in the festivities. Live music filled room, subtly gliding over the sound of chattering voices. Golden light streamed from the chandeliers, suggesting a royal atmosphere. Callen took a moment to wonder. This was the world she grew up in. She threw him a knowing smile before descending the staircase.

"Comms check," Callen muttered.

"I see you," Sam's voice carried through the earwig jammed deep in Jocelyn's ear. He and Kensi were seated in a nondescript van outside the estate. They had access to the security feeds, scanning them for any questionable activity.

"Loud and clear," Kensi replied.

"Roger that," Deeks finished the roll call. "Why am I always cast as the waiter?"

"Because you look like a washout who would take a job as a waiter," Jocelyn teased, and Kensi grunted in agreement.

"Where did you get that dress?" Kensi asked as she spotted the couple on the screen.

"Where you got yours."

"Hetty got to you, too?"

"Yes." She pressed a hand to her chest, adjusting the fabric against her straining bosom. "I can't wait to get out of it."

Still on her arm, Callen realized he would like to be there when she did. Shaking his head, he turned to the task at hand.

Why you women put yourself through this torture, I will never know," Sam commented.

"Would you prefer we dressed in sweatpants?" Jocelyn challenged. "Trust me, dressing for comfort is never attractive."

"Can we stop talking about clothes?" Deeks groaned. "I did not choose this career to talk about fashion."

Jocelyn laughed. "We both know you enjoy your Armani as much as the next guy."

"I'd enjoy it more if I got to actually wear it. How Callen ended up in a Tom Ford suit, I will never know."

Jocelyn appraised her partner. "I'd say he looks pretty good."

Callen's chest swelled as he straightened his tuxedo jacket. He would rather be back in his jeans and t-shirt, but the compliment alone made the monkey suit bearable.

"Jocelyn, darling!" Joseph Hart greeted his daughter with a kiss on each cheek.

After reciprocating, Jocelyn turned to Callen. "Dad, this is Gabriel Clarke."

Callen shook Mr. Hart's hand with a laugh. "What she means to say, Sir, is this is Gabriel Clarke, my fiancé."

"How could she have forgotten that?" Joseph laughed.

Jocelyn cursed inwardly. She had forgotten that little factor. Staring down at the glacier of diamonds on her finger, she wondered how, indeed.

"He's CEO of Prime Industries, International," she elaborated. "They do weapons research and development for the government here and across the pond."

Her father raised his eyebrows in surprise. "It can't be easy to meet guys of his…caliber...on the job. How'd you land this guy?"

She was prepared for this question, looking adoringly at Callen. "Funny story! He was a suspect in an arms dealing case. He was found innocent, and, when it was over, he asked me out for a drink. The rest is history!"

"Let's hope history continues. Don't lose this guy!" he squeezed her arm good-naturedly. "Well, feel free to donate generously. There are a few people I'd love for you to meet, Gabriel, if you'd care to join me."

Jocelyn started to remove her arm from Callen's. She knew how this part worked. The men would go over to the corner and talk business while the women gossiped and judged each other's choice of gown. He surprised her by holding her hand fast.

"Come, now," her father coaxed, "business talk is no place for the ladies. You won't die from five minutes apart from your lady."

Callen looked to Jocelyn for confirmation, and she smiled in resignation. She hated the gossiping queens from her past, but knew that her father would never talk to Callen if she were there.

"Go, sweetie," she replied, kissing him briefly on the lips.

He blinked in surprise, but managed to keep it hidden. She was, after all, just selling the bit…right?

"After you, Mr. Hart," Callen acquiesced.

* * *

While the two men made their rounds around the banquet hall, Jocelyn kept her eyes peeled for any members of the Kirsonov family. This was a difficult feat combined with task of avoiding the gossiping girls from her past and society photographers of the present. She found the premier spot, short of standing on a table, by the _hors d'ourves_ and against the wall. Sipping bubbly water and lime, she surveyed the field.

A jerk at her arm made her gasp in surprise. Callen looked her way instinctively but couldn't locate her in the throng.

"You okay?" he breathed, barely audible through the comms. He was, after all, standing beside her father.

Jocelyn said nothing, rendered motionless at the all too familiar voice of her assailant. He dragged her stiff form onto the terrace, finding a shadowed alcove; she knew better than to cause a scene. She was pressed against the wall; his grip never wavering on his arm.

Deeks stepped in. "I don't have a visual."

"Looking," Sam scanned the security feed from the van.

"Find her."

Back to the wall, Jocelyn found herself in the shadow of a tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome man. The voice unmistakably belonged to longtime acquaintance and full time sleaze ball.

"Jackson Pryor," she met her assailant's eyes evenly.

"Pleased to see me?" he purred, drinking in her figure.

She wasn't. Of everyone she wanted to avoid at this gala, he was the worst. He was the sort of guy who used his good looks to get him where they could and used money where they couldn't. Worse still, he was the sort of guy who could push someone to the point of suicide and get away scot free. Her stomach curdled at his touch; she wriggled violently under the press of his body.

"Let me go," she ordered, deliberately meeting his eyes.

"Why?" he drawled. "I'm only getting reacquainted with an old friend."

"You are the furthest thing from a friend," she spat.

"I've got a visual," Kensi announced. "She's on the terrace with a dark haired man. I can't get a good look at his face; they're in the shadows."

"Got it," Deeks interrupted. "Do I move?"

Jocelyn found scanned the backyard, shaking her head ever so slightly at the camera.

"She's signaling a negative, Deeks." Sam chimed in.

Callen bit his lip in frustration. His partner in the mission was being accosted by God knows who. It was his instinct to help; he wasn't sure if she could handle herself against the mystery man.

On the terrace, Jocelyn held her own.

"You're still hot," Jackson smiled.

His prying eyes made her skin crawl. "You're still a douchebag."

"Oh, admit it! You want a piece of this."

She flipped his grip on her arm, pulling him close so no one would hear her. "Not if you were the last man on earth. You were rich and entitled the first time I shut you down so you went after my best friend. You've spent the past few years getting richer and more entitled, and frankly my dear, I don't give a shit." She smiled sweetly. "Do you know what I've been doing for these past few years? I got my shit together." In one fluid movement, she flipped her wrist, twisting his arm into a precarious and painful position. "I became a cop, so I can send assholes like you to jail. Now, in the eyes of the law, you haven't done anything worthy of a jail cell...but that doesn't mean I won't snap your wrist if you don't walk away right now."

"Are you insane?" he gasped, shooting her a glare.

She only gripped him harder.

"Okay, fine!"

Satisfied, she released him and he retreated, rubbing his hand and looking at her like she was insane.

"You okay?" Callen's voice echoed in her ear.

Jocelyn shook it off, speaking to her partner and the camera. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

"You are eerily adept at dealing with assholes," he noted admiringly.

"Only because I have you to practice on."

Callen bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. Jocelyn steeled her nerves, allowing one last shiver down her spine; a discomfiting mixture of fear and disgust. She reappeared, gracing him with a smile, but her eyes floated past him to the wall opposite.

"I see Alina."

She was fine, he sighed in relief, and still on task. "Go."

* * *

If anyone was dressed for a funeral, it would have to be Alina Kirsonov. The black gown covered her from chin to toe in lace. Her face, already fair skinned, was drained of color, a sharp contrast to her painted blood red lips. She stood tall with impeccable posture, but the crystal flute in her hand shook; a clear sign she had drunk one too many champagnes. Alina was devastatingly beautiful, and, by all appearances, absolutely devastated.

Jocelyn made a show of pacing in aggravation.

"Ugh! Men are such assholes!" she exclaimed to her silent companion. "Doesn't he see the ring?"

She jerked her hand up to her face, showing off the diamond in irritation. Alina nodded in acknowledgement and took another sip of champagne.

"I'm Jocelyn, by the way."

"Alina." The girl's eyes flickered to Jocelyn.

The following thirty seconds passed in silence. Jocelyn wracked her brain for the next thing to say, but Alina spoke first.

"When did you get engaged?"

"Engaged?" Jocelyn glanced down at her hand. "Oh! Three months ago. That's him over there."

She indicated Callen across the room.

"Wow," Alina smiled faintly, a touch of pink coming to her cheeks. "Is he the one?"

The detective glanced toward her partner, who smiled back in challenge. "I'd like to think so."

"That's so romantic."

This was far from the line of question Jocelyn had been expecting from a rape victim. She had assumed Alina would bite at her frustration with Blake, but the girl was more interested in her engagement.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Jocelyn asked conversationally.

Oh," Alina blinked, turning her elusive eyes toward the marble floor. "I did."

Jocelyn touched her hand in comfort. "Sweetie, what happened?"

Looking over Jocelyn's shoulder, Alina paled further than before. The detective turned to look at the interruption only to see the Consul staring her down from across the room.

"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it."

Mr. Kirsonov was making his way over to them. Alina seemed to collapse into herself as Jocelyn realized she needed a diversion, ASAP. Callen, diligently watching her from the corner of his eye, made the connection instantly. Looking back to his companions, he made his excuses.

"Well, if you ever do, just call me." She knew she was pushing her luck, but she couldn't resist slipping her card into Alina's shaking hand.

The Kirsonovs were closing in; Jocelyn tried to turn away but couldn't—not without drawing attention to her purpose. She flinched at the touch of a hand on her waist, but relaxed when she found it belonged to Callen. Unable to voice her thanks, she chose to kiss him instead.

"Alina, this is my fiance, Gabriel."

Thankful for a different thread of conversation, Alina took his hand with a smile. "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," Callen replied magnanimously, "but I'm afraid I have to steal my fiancée away for a dance."

Jocelyn's jaw dropped. "You dance?" She allowed the music to seep into her mind. Tango.

"Are you surprised?"

"Darling, you will never cease to amaze me." She turned to Alina. "Excuse me."

He led the astonished detective onto the dance floor with a flourish before pulling her tightly into position. They waited for the eight-count, then began. Beside the general disbelief that Callen could dance in the first place, she was pleasantly surprised to find how they moved together. His style was unpolished but capable, just like him. Far from tripping her up, it complemented her own stiff and often over polished movements. Though the dance was energetic, they floated around the room effortlessly.

Jocelyn found herself laughing as he performed a small lift. "This is a surprise. How did you learn to dance?"

"Hetty," he answered simply. "You?"

Jocelyn smiled knowingly. It was likely for some sort of assignment; she could just picture the small woman directing him around the bullpen.

Oh, it's a requirement for every society girl. I'm also required to be proficient in three foreign languages, art, and voice, all while retaining impeccable fashion."

"Were you living in a Jane Austen book? Did you learn the pianoforte, too?"

She was a virtuoso, but his reference was more shocking. "You've read Jane Austen?"

"No; I saw a few movies."

"You watched the movies?"

He shrugged. "My ex-girlfriend made me."

"Girlfriend?" She feigned shock. "You've had a girlfriend?"

Callen expertly released her into a spin, admiring her as the dress swirled around her ankles. She swung back to hold him just a little bit tighter.

He took advantage of the proximity to lower his voice. "So, what's up with Alina?"

"I don't think she was raped."

"What? Why would she call rape if it never happened?"

Jocelyn lowered her voice. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think she and Porter were dating."

"So it was date rape."

"No, she smiled when she thought of him." Jocelyn had seen the look of a date rape victim firsthand, and Alina showed no signs. "Alina looks sad, even scared. Date rape victims often feel responsible, like it's their fault. I think her parents have something to do with it. Maybe they didn't approve."

Callen glanced over at the Kirsonovs. "I can't imagine them disapproving of anything."

She smiled into his neck, easily reading the sarcasm in his voice. "I know! They look so very congenial."

"If they are responsible, we'll have a hard time proving it."

"We need more evidence," she agreed.

"You got a pretty good rapport with Alina. Maybe you can get her to open up."

Alina was standing with her parents, her mother's hand wrapped possessively around the girl's wrist.

"I don't think she's going to talk to me tonight."

"You'll have to catch her at university."

In the meantime, Deeks, can you get their prints?"

"Oh, I have a purpose besides working the party?" She could hear the sarcasm dripping from every word.

"I'm working the party!" Jocelyn shot back. The lively dance combined with concentrated conversation had her breathless. "It's hard work dancing in these heels."

"Don't forget working the dress." Callen shot back. "I can't imagine you pulling that off."

Deeks rolled his eyes before artfully subtly the Kirsonovs' glasses for fresh champagne. "Mission accomplished."

"Aww, good boy," Jocelyn teased.

The dance came to an end. Both she and Callen were breathing heavily. Her chest heaved with the exercise, rising and falling mere centimeters from his own.

"Phew!" she gasped, "I haven't done that in ages!"

"You're welcome," he laughed.

"Now what?"

"We're done. We'll lose Alina and her parents if we press any more tonight. We will enjoy the party, eat food, and observe."


	7. Chapter 7

The evening began to wind down. Jocelyn rarely left Callen's side for the rest of the night as she walked him through the rounds. Though he preferred to remain anonymous, an engagement to the host's daughter wasn't something to be taken lightly. He would never admit to it, but he was out of his depth. Undercover operations called for tact and invisibility. This felt less of a clandestine operation and more of a con or grift. His cheeks hurt from smiling and his charm was wearing thin. There were old acquaintances to greet, complete with shallow conversation. The society photographer insisted on a photo of the happy couple. Deeks, of course, switched out the memory card at the end of the night. Despite the spotlight at the party, it would be a cold day in hell before any photos of Callen were published anywhere, even in the society column.

"Almost done," she reassured her faux fiancé. "There's just one more couple I need to see."

He rolled her eyes at her. "Promise?"

"Be nice!" She chided. "These actually are my friends."

Callen smiled politely as they approached the couple. They were well into their fifties, though their lushly colored hair disguised the telltale gray. The husband's suit was cut to perfection and, while the wife's dress flattered her figure, it looked made to blend into the canvas of society. Indeed, she had blended so thoroughly, he hadn't noticed them until Jocelyn pointed them out.

"Kevin, Marsha," she shook their hands warmly, "I'd like to introduce my fiancé, Gabriel Clarke. Gabe, this is Kevin and Marsha Harmon."

"A pleasure to meet you," he greeted.

"Likewise," they replied politely.

Marsha squeezed Jocelyn's hand wholeheartedly. "It's good to see you. It's been so long."

"Yes," Kevin chimed in, "I don't think we've seen you at one of these soirees since…"

He trailed off, lost in some memory.

"I must admit I lost taste for this sort of thing," she cut in, hiding the awkward moment, "But my father insisted I show Gabe off."

"Well, you have landed a handsome one." A shadow crossed the wife's brow. "Does he treat you right?"

"There is none better," Jocelyn assured.

The older woman embraced Jocelyn tightly. "Then I am happy for you."

Callen had the distinct feeling he was missing something, but knew better than to speak up. Something passed between Jocelyn and Marsha, unspoken. He could read the sadness in Jocelyn's eyes, mirrored in the couple's. This was private; he needed to get away.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked conversationally.

"Thank you, yes!" she replied, more enthusiastically than necessary.

He kissed her cheek and she squeezed his hand in heartfelt thanks. Though he stepped away, he watched her closely from the bar.

"You really should come to visit sometime," Marsha continued.

"Really?" Jocelyn asked, surprised. "I thought you wouldn't want to see me after—"

"Nonsense," Kevin interjected. "We could never blame you."

"I know. I just figured you wouldn't want to remember."

Marsha laid a hand on Jocelyn's arm. "You were like a daughter to us, Jocelyn. She would have liked you to remain such."

She wanted to cry. "I just wish—"

"We all do, honey."

"How can you stand to be here?" she whispered, so low that Callen almost missed it over the comm. "How can you be here with him in the same room?"

"You forget we've been doing this for years, now. We can't all run away to another continent. Jackson knows better than to bother us, and we are sure to avoid him."

Callen made a mental note of the name, Jackson. It rang a bell; he looked back through his memory and came up with the answer: the man who had accosted Jocelyn on the terrace.

"Yes, well, he seems to have forgotten to leave me alone."

Kevin smiled. "Well, you managed to put him in his place."

Jocelyn chuckled softly at the memory. "Yes, and he deserved it, the stuck-up, selfish, abusive—" She shut her mouth with a sigh when she realized the volume of her voice.

The sad threesome shared a meaningful glance. Jocelyn would give anything to not have four NCIS agents and an LAPD detective listening in on her, but she didn't know when she would get another chance.

She lowered her voice. "I'm going to take him down, I promise. He will pay."

Her faux fiancée, making his way back from the bar, nearly dropped their drinks. _Take him down?_

Kevin and Marsha only squeezed her hands. "Thank you," Marsha sighed. "And try not to get yourself killed."

* * *

The rest of the evening passed without event. The Kirsonovs guarded their daughter, Alina looked positively miserable, and Callen didn't touch Jocelyn again. Her father had set them both up in her bedroom. He was under no illusions that Jocelyn didn't sleep with her fiancé. After all, she had slept with guys who had no status in her life at all—of course she was sleeping with Callen. So there they stood. It was bedtime, and there was one bed.

Callen looked at her, glanced at the bed, then back to her.

"I'm going for a swim." He dug the earwig out.

Right, Jocelyn remembered, he doesn't sleep.

"What, in the nude?" She couldn't deny the picture was appealing.

I'm sure one of your old boyfriends left one behind."

"Yes, because I always had my one night stands back to my family estate." Jocelyn glared at him. "My brother might have something that fits."

He looked at her in surprise. "You have a brother?"

Jocelyn led him across the hall. "Yes, Evan. He runs the international division." She rummaged in her brother's dresser. "He's probably in Britain or Egypt or some other random country."

"Why didn't you go into the family business?"

"Because the power that comes with money isn't good for anyone. It corrupts, so slowly you don't even realize it. I've seen what it does to people. I like what money can buy; it would only be a matter of time. Money can get away with murder. I made a choice to live on the money provided to me. I am spoiled; I have a trust fund, but I've budgeted well enough that I can take a poor paying job to do what good I can." She raised a pair of swim shorts triumphantly. "Here you go."

Callen turned them in his hands. "Thank you."

Embarrassed by her little speech, she marched past him. "I need a shower."

It felt amazing to let her hair down. The water streamed down her hair, clearing it of all hairspray and gel. She scrubbed the makeup off, leaving her skin bare and fresh. After rubbing her legs down with lotion, she crawled between the sheets of her bed.

Ahh, sleep. She closed her eyes, sighing in happiness.

And nothing happened. Her eyes snapped open. Time ticked by slowly; she passed the time tracing constellations between her glow-in-the-dark stars. She plopped a pillow onto her face with a groan. This wasn't going to work.

Jocelyn tossed and turned in her bed. Though she had slept in that bed every night growing up, it felt more foreign than any of the many beds she had shared. Instead of torturing herself, she slipped out of bed with a sigh.

On the roof, Callen swam laps in the indoor pool. He usually hated water, but it seemed the most viable solution. The water lapped gently, echoing in the glass chamber. The reflections cast an eerie but calming glow on the walls. Jocelyn's bare feet slapped against the tiles, jarring Callen from his ritual.

He pulled up against the edge, smiling. "Couldn't sleep?"

Yeah," she breathed, sitting on the edge and dipping her feet into the warm water. "You know, Christian Louboutin once described the pain his shoes cause as orgasmic."

Callen looked to her feet, still crisscrossed with red from her shoes' straps. It looked incredibly painful. Jocelyn reached to rub them in the water. She moaned with pleasure, smoky eyes slipping behind heavy lids. "I'm pretty sure he was referring to the feeling of taking them off."

This was the first time he'd seen her without makeup. It was a stark contrast to the painted face she wore only hours ago. Her hair, once pinned back, now tumbled down past her shoulders. The blue glow of the pool made her look paler than usual and accentuated her exhausted eyes. For once, she looked less ethereal and more human.

He watched her, finally breathing after a day of full immersion back into family life. She looked tired, so very tired. Eyes closed, head tilted back, mouth opened just the tiniest bit. She might be unorthodox, but she had done well this night. Questions filled his mind as he replayed the evening.

"What happened earlier?"

Her green orbs snapped open. "With who? That idiot Jackson?"

"Oh, no, we'll get to him. I'm talking about the couple."

Jocelyn dipped her head, allowing thick bangs to cover her eyes. "Nothing."

"Did you know those people?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Harmon? Yes. Their daughter was my best friend growing up."

"Where is she now?"

"She's dead." Jocelyn pulled her legs out of the water, making to stand, but Callen stopped her.

"How'd she die?"

Fixing a hard glare on him, she tried to pull free. "She committed suicide."

"When?"

"Why do you even care?" she countered. "It's not your problem!"

"Fine." He let go and Jocelyn stood.

Callen pushed off the wall, lapping once again. Standing up to breathe, he noticed she hadn't moved. Kneeling on the edge, she sighed.

"Sophie was my only friend among the society girls. She was sweet, innocent, and beautiful." Jocelyn laughed softly. "I think I was a bad influence on her. Around her sweet seventeen, she got a boyfriend—an abusive one. She was so sweet; he had her convinced he loved her and he took advantage of her. I had no idea until I went over to see her one day and found her hanging from the ceiling fan by her bedsheets."

"Oh."

"She left me a note detailing everything. Never anyplace noticeable, of course; she lived a high-visibility lifestyle. I tried to submit the letter for evidence, but the boyfriend had friends in high places. He got off scot-free."

"Jackson." Callen spoke his name and Jocelyn lifted her chin to look at him. "Jackson was the boyfriend."

She nodded solemnly. "Everything fell apart after that. My dad shipped me to England to live with my brother...and dispel any thought of revenge."

"So that's why you're friends with Kayla," Callen thought aloud.

"What?" Jocelyn was offended.

"You see her as another chance. You failed Sophie, so you befriended Kayla."

"I suppose." Jocelyn furrowed her brow in thought. "I never really thought about it that way."

"You must be pleased; she's happily married."

"Yeah. She won't be needing me anymore."

"Problems don't stop just because you get married."

"Yes, but it's Marty's job to deal with her issues now."

"Well at least you'll have more free time. What do you do for fun besides sleep with strangers?"

Jocelyn scowled. "What, so just because I'm confident in my sexuality, I'm automatically a slut? I spend plenty of nights alone!"

"What do you do on those nights?"

"I watch TV, organize my apartment, and hang out with Kayla."

"Riveting. Do you have any other female friends beside Kayla?"

"Girls don't exactly like me," Jocelyn stated, her tone tinted with humor.

"I wonder why," Callen grinned sarcastically.

Jocelyn kicked water at him. "Shut up."

"It's like that is it?" he laughed, splashing her back.

She squealed, kicking out of reflex more than anything. "Hell yes."

In response, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the water. Jocelyn surfaced, surprised laughter bubbling from her lips. After the tension of the night, it felt good to laugh and let loose. A quick kick propelled her forward. She wrapped her arms around him, dragging him beneath the warm water.

Callen's reaction to her attack was worlds apart from hers. It was like she flipped a switch, turning him from mild-mannered partner to ruthless killer. He writhed in her grasp, pulling her into a headlock. Jocelyn barely managed to kick off the pool floor, boosting them both to the surface. Just like that, Gabriel returned.

"What the hell?" Jocelyn gasped, pushing him away.

He seemed just as surprised as she, propelling himself to arm's length. "You okay?"

She held up her hand, holding him at arm's length. "Just give me a second." Her free hand massaged her throat as she took deep breaths. "Damn, Gabe! Dial down the reflexes next time!"

Impulsively, he pulled Jocelyn toward him. He regretted hurting her; the pain stung just as badly as if he had choked himself. She relaxed slowly into his arms as he pushed her hair back from her face. Her neck was red but her eyes were bright.

"It's okay. Anyone with training as extensive as yours would react the same way."

"You know," he breathed, "you're the strangest cop I've ever come across."

She smiled wryly. "That's not the first time I've heard that. Sheriff Miles said no one would take me seriously because of my looks."

"There is truth to that statement," he concurred. "You try to fit in so hard that you stand out like a sore thumb. You're driven with a vendetta, similar to many cops I've come across. But you have more heart than any of them put together. Sure, you're hardened enough to fire a gun, but you've yet to actually fire it on the job. You prefer to talk to people—and they listen."

The water steamed around them, the air humid from the warm pool and the cold night beyond the glass enclosure. Jocelyn was keenly aware of their proximity and her breaths shortened. She felt the electricity between them, as if lightning struck the pool. He, too, was affected. His blue eyes, once clear as a California sky, were darkened with lust that he dared not indulge.

Still, he continued. "You're different because no matter what you've seen or experienced, each horror still stings. You have too much heart for this job, but somehow I know you'll change the world."

Jocelyn's breath mingled with his own, hot against his lips. Her own mouth was open, surprised by his words yet oddly comforted by them. "No one's ever put it that way."

No words came from his mouth, but his eyes flickered from her emeralds to the luscious lips below. She felt his intentions before he even knew, but the electricity rooted her in place. Ever so slowly, he moved in as if drawn by a magnetic force. Despite his qualms, despite her promise not to involve herself, she couldn't resist. Even in this moment, he remained the gentleman, as if waiting for her consent. This was no forced move; it was to be consensual. Part of her wished he would just kiss her already, but she couldn't wait for him to come the whole way. She inclined her head to close the gap. They were close; the magnets that were their lips grew too strong…

"Oh, sorry!" came the exclamation.

The moment snapped like a rubber band and the twosome leapt away from each other like teenagers caught parking.

"Dad? What are you doing awake?"

"I fancied an evening swim; I had no idea you would do the same." He stood awkwardly on the edge of the pool, towel draped across his neck. "I'll just leave…"

"No!" Jocelyn exclaimed. "We were just leaving."

"Yes," the father grinned. "I would prefer if you took this to the bedroom. Sheets are easier to wash; less tedious than chlorinating the pool."

Callen dropped his chin, Jocelyn blushed. Climbing out of the pool, she thanked the cool air for calming her nerves and bringing her body back from its heightened state. Callen, too, sighed. It took all her courage to take his hand and lead him to the door.

"Good night, Dad."

"Good night, lovebirds."


	8. Chapter 8

Jocelyn hadn't lied about breakfast. Her father burst into the dining room carrying the most aromatic breakfast Callen had ever beheld. As predicted, his apron was a mess, covered in egg yolk and other ingredients.

"Crab eggs benedict with homemade hollandaise!" he announced with a flourish.

The daughter flashed a bemused smile at Callen, embarrassed by her father's antics. "Papa, try not to scare my fiance!"

"Not at all!" Ethan Hart exclaimed. "If he is to be a part of this family, he must partake in all the family traditions!"

Last night, Ethan Hart was the epitome of respectable. This morning, all that was discarded along with the tuxedo, revealing the true energetic Irishman he was. Far from taken aback, Callen enjoyed the familial interaction between Jocelyn and her father.

"He's right," Callen agreed, seating himself beside Jocelyn. "All the family traditions."

With one final kiss on his daughter's cheek, Ethan took his seat. "Eat!" he exclaimed, and the happy couple did as ordered.

"So, Gabriel," he announced so abruptly, Callen nearly dropped his fork, "why didn't you ask me for my daughter's hand before proposing?"

Jocelyn looked up like a deer in the headlights, but Callen stepped up. "I thought about it, sir, but we both know how unconventional your daughter is."

The words, spoken with a fond look at Jocelyn and a squeeze of her hand, quelled all animosity in Mr. Hart's eyes.

"That's true. My Lynnie has never done anything conventional in her life. After all, she gave up this-" He gestured at the grandeur around him "-to become a cop."

The detective's hand turned to grasp Callen's with a death grip. "Yes, well, I am the black sheep of the family," she replied with gritted teeth.

Callen knew he had stumbled onto a decade-old argument, and he had to step in before all their work was undone.

"I think it's marvelous that she's out there saving lives every day." Two sets of wary eyes pivoted onto him. He continued with caution, though his tone indicated the support of a loving fiancé. "It is admirable that someone with such an upbringing would choose to protect and serve."

Jocelyn squeezed his hand, lightly this time. Her eyes said what her lips could not: _thank you._

"And without it, she might never have met me." He turned to Jocelyn with a chaste kiss on the lips. The gesture indicated a protectiveness she had never experienced before. It challenged her father to defy his words.

"I suppose," he allowed, taking a generous sip of of his mimosa. "But she will, of course, leave the force once you two are married."

"Does it matter?" Jocelyn was losing her cool quickly. Callen could see the Irish temper pulsing in her neck.

"Of course it matters! How can you be his wife while still traipsing around the city?"

"So just because I'm married, I have to give up my career? I was just promoted!"

"And I'm very proud of you," he smiled. "But it seems a shame someone so beautiful with such good breeding should waste all that just because their friend committed suicide."

Jocelyn stood abruptly. "Don't patronize me. We both know that Sophia's suicide was no whim. You're just too coward to back me up on my accusations."

"Nonsense. If you had proof, I might be persuaded, but your friend always was a bit unstable."

"She was _SHY_!" The china clattered as she slammed the table with her fist. "Shy and quiet!"

"Yes, well, we never did see eye to eye on this." Mr. Hart replied breezily. Apparently he was used to his daughter's outbursts. "Do you golf, Gabriel?"

The change of subject, so unexpected, caused Callen to cough before responding. Jocelyn looked from father to fiancé. Her eyes flamed with frustration as she threw up her hands and rushed out of the room. Callen blinked, wondering if he should follow, but Mr. Hart looked at him so intently, he chose to continue the conversation.

"I would like to," he admitted, "but I have never been on an actual course."

"That settles it! You must golf with me!"

"I can't; I have to work today."

Callen actually did have an affinity for golf and he was telling the truth-he'd never played a game in his life. But continuing the ruse would be difficult and even unethical.

"Another day, then." Mr. Hart conceded.

"I look forward to it."

Jocelyn's father regarded Callen across the room. He was used to this sort of interrogation, but after what had just transpired, he was torn between Jocelyn and her father.

"I look forward to it."

Jocelyn's father regarded Callen across the room. He was used to this sort of interrogation, but after what had just transpired, he was torn between Jocelyn and her father.

"Are your intentions to my daughter honorable?" Mr. Hart broke the silence.

"Absolutely, sir."

"You won't break her heart."

"Never." His mind flashed back to Jocelyn, standing resplendent in her scarlet gown. "I'd be in more danger of her breaking mine."

"I want you to know," Mr. Hart started softly, "I never approved of my daughter joining the force, but I did everything I could to make her realize her dream."

"I'm sure she appreciates that, Sir."

"Oh, she doesn't know," he clarified. "And she'd kill me if she found out."

"Pardon?"

"Do you think they usually accept art history students into the police force? I gave a generous donation to the LAPD to grease some wheels."

He was right. Hart would be pissed if she found out the one thing she worked for was bought by her father. It was highly likely that the rest of the precinct knew, that would explain their hostility toward the detective.

"I see."

"Look, you can't tell her. She needs this, I just wish she'd chosen another career. I'd rather her hate me for something I didn't do than for something I did"

"Don't worry," Callen reassured the older man. "I won't say a word."

* * *

Jocelyn had to get away. Her father was SO infuriating, she couldn't stand it. She should never have agreed to this mission; the argument was unavoidable. Would no one ever take her seriously? Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to give in. The safe haven of her bedroom greeted her like a warm embrace; Jocelyn plopped down on the bed unceremoniously.

She felt like she was fifteen again, rebuked for missing curfew, instead of a full-grown 30-year-old woman. Back then, her mother would come in, hold her close, and talk to her daughter about Jocelyn's free spirit and how she should never change.

Instead, her mother changed. She left for another man. Of course, she told Jocelyn that they'd always be mother and daughter, but Jocelyn wouldn't hear her promises. It was betrayal, true and simple. Her father handled the divorce surprisingly well, turning his passions toward the proper raising of his children., but Jocelyn would have none of it. Their relationship went from bad to worse. Sophia's death set her on the path to sobriety, but Jocelyn's new aspirations didn't help her situation. She parted ways with her father and never looked back.

Until now.

Her past was finally catching up to her, and she didn't like it one bit. Tired from arguing, she let the tears fall.

* * *

When Callen found her, she was sprawled across the king-size canopy bed, still clad in her pajamas. He knocked on the doorjamb. Jocelyn turned away, wiping away what Callen could only assume were tears.

"Yes?" she asked, more harshly than intended.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

It didn't take years of profiling and covert operations to know that she was not 'fine'. "No, you're not."

Few men ventured that far. Most would run at the mere sound of a woman crying. He was off the hook and got credit for asking the first time, but she was not in the mood for a heart to heart. "Fuck off."

When she received no reply, Jocelyn finally turned to glare at the agent. "Don't you have a future father-in-law to pander to?"

In this moment, Callen made a startling realization: Jocelyn Hart was an ugly crier. Not only were her eyes red, but they were puffy, too. Her usually smooth skin was blotched with various shades of crimson, and her nose was a deeply unflattering shade of pink. She looked perfectly pathetic, dwarfed on her giant silver-and-white bed like a child in the aftermath of a temper tantrum.

He couldn't help it.

He laughed.

The colors on her face unified into a solid red. "This isn't funny!" she protested, pounding her fist on the bed.

"It's a little funny," he contradicted, struggling for breath. "You're what, 30?"

Jocelyn tilted her chin indignantly. "29."

"Liar, your file said 30. You're acting like a spoiled little princess!"

"Am not!" she started to raise her hand again, but stopped just in time. "I am not."

"Then why are you so upset? Because your father doesn't approve of your line of work? Get in line; there are millions more just like you."

"You wouldn't understand; you don't have a family."

Wow. She went straight for the gut.

"I don't need one to get this, little princess. Here you are, living in this huge house with an entire staff at your disposal, and you're having a tantrum in your bed because daddy doesn't like your job."

"I don't live here."

"No, you gave it all up, and I admire your cause, but the more you carry it around like a self-righteous burden, the more people are going to disregard you."

During his speech, Jocelyn straightened. The crying stopped. Standing, she allowed herself one final sniff for good measure. He sized her up with a probing stare.

"You good?"

"Mmhmm."

"Good. We need to head to OPS for debrief. Hetty will want a full report and we need to research the possibility there was no rape."

Jocelyn nodded. "You go ahead; there's something I need to do."

Callen opened his mouth to ask, but thought better of it.

* * *

After gathering his things-he could not forget the suit and dress-Jocelyn followed him outside like a dutiful fiancée.

"Gabe?" she halted his departure with a hand on his elbow.

He turned toward her, his face bare inches from hers. "Yes?"

Slowly, she placed a hand on his cheek and lifted her lips to his. The kiss was soft but firm, like a period on an emphatic statement. For the briefest moment, Callen gave in to the kiss. He could taste a hint of the Italian moonlight, reveling at her warm curves in his arms. Then, just as quickly, he broke the kiss. She stared up into his eyes as aquamarine met cerulean.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He didn't dare ask why. His gaze drifted past her to the window where her father watched carefully. Understanding dawned; the kiss meant nothing.

Then why did he wish it did?

* * *

She'd told Callen there was something she had to do, and she knew he'd guessed at her purpose. To his credit, he hadn't asked or interfered. This was something she had to do alone; something no one would understand. As her investigation into Sophie's death was purely conjecture, it was better if no one knew where she was or what she was up to. Too many people already tried to deter her—the chief offender being her father—and this was too important to her to let anyone keep her away.

Jocelyn surveyed Sophie's room, noting with relief that it hadn't been tampered with, even in the many years her friend had been gone. By the way Kevin and Marsha hovered, she could tell that they didn't visit the room often. They owned a large string of hotels spanning the West Coast and rarely returned to this particular building.

Sophie had been an organized girl. Everything had a place, from the large stuffed animal she'd won at the fair to the color coordinated walk-in closet. It may have been a hotel room, but it would always be Sophie's room. The Harmons had never booked it for anyone else.

The bookshelf was filled with her favorite volumes. An avid reader, Sophie managed to rub off on Jocelyn. They read many books together, but their favorite was Jane Austen's _Emma_. Sophie had likened Jocelyn to the story's heroine: beautiful, scheming, and outgoing, while Sophie identified with the more reserved and down-to-earth Harriet Smith. She always said that, like Harriet, she was Jocelyn's charity case. While that may have been true at first, the two opposites had become fast friends.

Together, they gathered every edition they found worthy. Some were gilded, some leather bound, others old and well-loved. The collection lined the bookshelf beside Sophie's bed; Jocelyn had memorized the story behind every book. They had spent hours scouring old book stores, some, they had simply stumbled across. Her favorite was the one they'd found on their trip to Paris. Somehow, they'd managed to get lost in a street fair. It stood out among the stacks on one street vendor's cart, the watercolored and embossed edition a splash of color in the browns, greens, and blacks.

Jocelyn's eyes searched the shelves for it now…where was it? Its honored spot on the top shelf was empty. Just like it had on the street in Paris, the swirling pinks and blues peeked through the organized clutter on Sophie's bedside table. Jocelyn slid it free, testing its familiar weight in her hands.

"You can have it—all of them," Marsha whispered. "She would have wanted you to have them."

The admission brought tears to Jocelyn's eyes. "Thank you. That means a lot."

"We'll leave you alone."

"Thanks."

She flipped through the rough-edged pages reverently. Her motions dislodged a thick envelope that fell to the floor. Almost automatically, she reached out to retrieve it. The paper was aged; the pages had molded around the envelope. Sophie's painfully familiar handwriting scrawled across the yellowed paper.

_Jocelyn_

She lowered herself onto Sophie's bed; dust went poof around her, but she didn't care. Curling her legs into herself, she reveled in the familiarity of the room, the musty scent fading away to reveal the floral perfume that was uniquely Sophie. The paper crinkled as she unfolded the small epistle.

_My dear friend,_

_I know we said we'd grow old together, chasing the other old fogies around the country club nursing home, but life never works out the way we wish it would. _

_I've never been like you. You've always gone after what you want while I've always settled for good enough. I know you told me I deserved more, but the more I reached, the worse things got. I've kept a smile on my face for too long._

_You warned me. You said that Jackson was bad news, but he made me feel needed, like no other man could. I appreciate that you stood by my decision even though you disagreed with it. You noticed the changes he was causing in me and called me out, but never denounced me. You noticed every bruise, every wince, and every tear. But I won't go on like this._

_Even after things went pear-shaped, I suppose I stayed with him to prove a point. I, too, could land one of the hottest guys from school._

_You were right. I can't even say it to you face, I'm too ashamed. Within a month of our relationship, he was beating me. Nowhere anyone could see, of course, we both had images to uphold, but every day I didn't put out, he would hit a little harder. He'd say it was my fault. He loved me so much, why would I withhold something so small from him? Then, I began to believe him._

_Three weeks ago, I gave in._

_Two days ago, I found out I was pregnant with the monster's baby._

_There is nothing like that little positive sign on the pregnancy test to throw one's life into focus. I no longer believe that holding out was my fault._

_Giving in was._

_I told him yesterday. He all but told me to get an abortion. He said his parents would disown him if he had a kid this young—and we all know how Jackson likes his money._

_He said, "How can you live with yourself?"_

_How can I live with myself?_

_I can't._

_I'm not strong like you. I can't go through life knowing I've aborted a child, but I can't imagine a life looking at the face of Jackson's baby. He would be a constant reminder of my mistakes, my idiocy. The answer presented itself quite rationally, like a sunbeam after all these days in the dark. Some might describe it as a light at the end of the tunnel._

_I hope you can forgive me, my darling Emma, for leaving you alone. Please tell my parents I love them; they won't understand._

_Live for me, and live for yourself. I'm sorry I won't be there to see your future schemes and hijinks. Take pictures of everything. Life's too short not to capture every minute._

_I don't know if I'll be in heaven or hell for what I'm about to do, but know that if I end up in heaven, I will be smiling down on you, awaiting your arrival after your own long, full life._

_Your friend forever,_

_Sophie_

Jocelyn's shoulders crumbled inward, her tears staining the paper. This was her fault, she knew it. Even after all these years, she should have spoken up, she should have—

Another sob rocked her body.

Sophie was pregnant and Jackson was the father. Jackson had driven her to suicide. Jackson was an abusive bastard. How could dear, sweet Sophie say it was all her fault? Had he brainwashed her so much? It took everything in her not to crumple the letter and toss it against the wall.

It was proof. After all these years of suspicions, she had real evidence against Jackson Pryor. Her detective training told her that he wouldn't go away for murder, but, if she pressed hard enough, he could get put away for manslaughter. It may be a slap on the wrist, but it would be more than enough to bury the socialite's standing in good society. He would be branded an abuser and murderer.

Despite her tears, Jocelyn smiled at the thought. The ordeal might finally be put to rest. This letter was undeniable evidence of Jackson's involvement in the suicide. The trouble would be proving he knew she planned to kill herself. Depraved heart murders were a tricky charge to pin, and Jocelyn had already seen the results money could bring…or the souls it could buy.

She needed a living witness, or at least a character witness. Abusive men don't stop their ways just because one girl got away. Jackson was sure to have other conquests…other victims. Her father mentioned he was married. The idea made her nauseous. How could a man like that convince any woman to enter into the bonds of matrimony? It was unconscionable.


	9. Chapter 9

"G!" Sam greeted his partner with a good natured slap on the back. "Scare your fiancée off already?"

"Not at all; there was somewhere she needed to be." At Sam's questioning glance, Callen continued, "She should be here shortly."

I hope.

"Hetty's on the warpath; you were supposed to check in hours ago."

"I would have, but I was roped into breakfast by the father of my future wife."

And I fell asleep in her arms.

"Already sucking up to the old man?"

"As much as I enjoy being Gabriel Kent, it will be nice when I'm just G. Callen again."

Sam grinned wickedly. "Did anything happen between you two that I should know about?"

"Really?" Callen deflected. "You know I would never get involved with a LEO."

"Not even one as attractive as Ms. Hart?"

"Especially not her. That woman has trouble written all over her. I'll be glad when this case is over."

"You aren't out of the marital woods yet, Mr. Callen," Hettyannounced, approaching the twosome. "You and Ms. Hart must follow up on Ms. Kirsonov's allegations of her parents' involvement in the murder. If her tale is correct, the consul has more malicious intentions in mind."

"Well I doubt the Kirsonovs suspect Hart," Callen said, a hint of admiration in coloring his voice. "She fit in perfectly."

"I never doubted her. Did you get a chance to speak to the Mr. and Mrs. Kirsonov?"

"Briefly, but we were unable to glean any new information from them. Alina was only slightly more forthcoming. Hart managed to slip her card, but only time will tell if Alina trusts her."

"Time is one thing we don't have, Mr. Callen. This is a highly sensitive case."

"This case is sensitive," Jocelyn interrupted, joining the small band of agents.

Where have you been? Callen shot her a questioning look but she ignored him.

"Any case involving rape—even alleged rape—needs to be handled with caution. That being said, Alina showed no markers of a rape victim. She told me she had a boyfriend but that she didn't want to talk about it. She did ask about my engagement and seemed particularly interested to know if Callen was the one. From my experience, rape victims aren't too fond of talking about relationships—especially happy ones."

"Do you concur, Mr. Callen?" Hetty asked quirking one eyebrow.

Callen hesitated as Jocelyn shot him an incredulous look.

I know what I'm talking about. Trust me.

You're too emotionally invested; you're seeing things.

You know I'm right.

"There may be something to what Alina said and it merits investigation."

_Ring! Ring!_

Automatically, everyone reached for their phones, but it was Jocelyn who had the call.

"This is Hart."

"Jocelyn?" an accented voice whispered.

"Alina?" came Jocelyn's shocked reply. Her audience leaned in. "What is it?"

"Did you mean it when you offered to talk with me?"

"Of course! Anything you want to talk about, I'm here."

"Can you meet me on the UCA campus by the mess hall at noon?"

"I'll see you there." Jocelyn injected as much confidence as she could into the statement before hanging up.

The phone sheathed, she looked back at her audience.

"So?" Callen asked impatiently.

"I'm meeting Alina outside the mess hall at noon."

Callen stepped forward. "I'm going with you."

"Oh, no, you're not," she contradicted vehemently. "If she spots another male, she'll run."

"You said yourself she's interested in our engagement. If you tell her you trust me, she'll trust me too."

"I'm not speaking to her about rape with another man present."

"How long have you been a cop? Don't you know the importance of having a partner?"

"I would die before I let Carlson anywhere near any rape victim. I don't care if he does work SVU; his rotation needs to end. Besides, no one else in the precinct understands as well as I."

"I'm not Carlson. You need backup in case anything goes south."

"What could possibly go wrong? I'm meeting a nineteen year old on a college campus. The less we do to threaten her, the better."

Did her naivete know no bounds? He'd seen dozens of innocent interviews go wrong and he wasn't about to let a fool like Jocelyn go into it alone. "All the same, I'm going with you."

The detective rolled her eyes. "Fine, but you don't get to talk."

* * *

There were ten UCA campuses, but a quick search in OPS told her Alina attended the San Diego campus. It wasn't hard to find the spot Alina mentioned; the fountain was large-and loud. She smiled approvingly. It would be difficult for any eavesdroppers to interfere. Called, on the other hand, stood stiffly beside her, arms crossed. A dour expression painted his handsome face; Jocelyn laughed at the sight.

"At least no one will bother us as long as you have that look on your face," she teased. "Lighten up! You're scaring the birds."

"I don't think you realize the gravity of the situation, Hart," he growled.

Jocelyn rounded on him, but instead of her usual fire, desperation colored her blue-green eyes. "If I don't find a way to lighten up, I'm going to scream. You don't think I know what's at stake? A man has been killed, a girl may have been raped if she hasn't been raped, she's been abused. Lives, politics, and happiness lay in the balance. I'm terrified I'll screw it up, so for the love of Tom Cruise, lighten up!"

Her speech was so comical, Callen did laugh. Jocelyn shot him a withering look, but he only continued.

"Wow. I thought you weren't taking this job seriously enough, but it looks like you're taking it TOO seriously."

"We all have our defense mechanisms," she retorted icily.

"So it would seem."

She looked so miserable in that moment; Callen wished he could gather her into his arms. That was far from appropriate, he reminded himself, not to mention highly unlike HIM. He chose to sit opposite her on the edge of the fountain. His hand rested beside her leg, as if he wanted to touch her but resisted.

"Everything's going to be okay. I've got your back."

She believed him.

"Jocelyn?" a tentative voice asked.

The detective jumped; Alina's approach was so quiet. "Alina!" she greeted. Impulse told her to embrace the young woman, but experience reminded her that was a bad idea. Instead, she reached out to squeeze Alina's arm. Even with that little bodily contact, she stiffened. "You remember my fiancé, Gabriel?"

Alina furrowed her brow slightly at the unexpected guest, but shook his hand anyway. "Of course."

"I'll just be over here if you need me," he offered with a kiss on Jocelyn's cheek and went to the other side of the fountain.

"He insists on following me everywhere," Jocelyn explained weakly.

"I think it's sweet," Alina beamed.

Gesturing for her companion to sit, Jocelyn asked the burning question. "So, what convinced you to contact me?"

"I wasn't going to at first," she admitted. "When you gave me your card, I almost ripped it up that instant. I had no idea the famous Jocelyn Hart was a cop!"

Jocelyn smiled knowingly, waiting for Alina to continue.

"But then I asked around about you-discreetly, of course. I found out your involvement in Kayla Townsend's rescue."

Kayla Deeks, Jocelyn corrected silently.

"You helped save her from someone in power and I thought maybe you could help me too."

In truth, Jocelyn had only played a small part in the drama, but that was not something to admit when building confidence in a victim. "How can I help you?"

Alina bit her lip and glanced about worriedly.

"You can trust me."

She let out a heavy sigh. "Christopher Porter didn't rape me; he was my boyfriend."

"So why did your parents say he did?"

"They found out about us. You see, I'm betrothed to the son of a businessman back in Russia. I came here two years ago with my parents for an American education at UCA; Chris was in my literature class; he asked me out on the spot. I told him no, but he was persistent. We ended up dating but managed to keep it a secret."

It was a veritable Romeo and Juliet-and Jocelyn already knew the ending.

"Chris was in NROTC, and when he graduated, he was assigned to his ship. We were apart for seven months during his deployment, but we kept in contact. My parents were getting suspicious, and when he returned, they had someone follow me. They confronted me when I got home and tried to force me to accuse him of rape-it was the only way to save my honor, they said-but I managed to get into a shower to wash any physical evidence away."

Dark pride glinted in Alina's eyes reminding Jocelyn that the frail girl in front of her had hidden strength.

"They got me all the way to the police station, but they couldn't make me talk," Alina continued. "We were sent away and I thought we were fine. I tried to get a note to Chris so he could run, but he refused to leave me. The next thing I knew, he was dead."

"What do you think happened?"

"Oh, I know what happened. I know my father's responsible, but I'm afraid of drawing anyone else in; he might kill them. As it is, I'm only allowed out for class. I had to slip his watchdog just to meet with you."

"He has people watching you?"

Alina nodded. "Two."

Jocelyn slid a glance across the fountain to Callen who nodded in response. While Jocelyn turned her attention back to Alina, Callen did a more thorough visual scan of the quad.

Alina mistook Jocelyn's shift as uneasiness. "Can you do anything for me?"

"Not as long as you're on Embassy ground. I can't step foot without an official invitation," Jocelyn explained. "I can take you back to the station and put you in witness protection, if you like."

"Is that necessary?" Alina balked.

"If you wish to prosecute, WitSec may be necessary."

"Prosecute?"

"Alina, your father is responsible for the death of your boyfriend."

"Yes, but I never-"

Jocelyn cursed silently. Of course the girl hadn't thought it through. She'd barely opened up and Jocelyn brought the full weight of the actions down on her head.

"Do I have to prosecute him?"

Taking Alina's hands, Jocelyn looked her square in the eye. "No, you don't have to prosecute. You don't have to do anything. But I can't allow your father to get away with killing another man. Even if you choose not to bear witness, _I_ have to arrest him. What makes you think he won't do this again?"

"He won't!" Alina protested. "I'll never fall in love again after Christopher. I'll just marry my betrothed and he'll have no one to go after."

"Is that really how you want to live? I thought you were a fighter."

"I am, I've just learned better than to fight my father."

"Then what are you doing here? Why'd you call me? You know who I am, you know what I would do for you."

Alina cast her eyes down to her lap. "I'm not sure. I just needed to tell _someone_."

"I understand," Jocelyn smiled.

"Can I have a couple of days to think about it-to think about testifying?"

"Of course!" the detective squeezed her hands and stood. "You know how to reach me."

Alina squeezed back. "Thank you."

As the girl walked away, Callen joined Jocelyn once again. "You know we don't have time for her to think about it."

"I know, but if we push her, she'll crack."

* * *

"I need a drink."

Jocelyn dropped her bags on the ground unceremoniously and headed for the wine cooler. She reached to the bottom left, retrieving her favorite red. It was her equivalent of comfort food, and the perfect way to unwind after one doozy of a day.

From the gala to the argument with her father, to the visit to the Dunham hotel and Sophia's letter, Jocelyn's mind was full and tired. It worked a mile a minute, desperately trying to sort out information, new and old.

Red liquid filled the goblet halfway. Jocelyn stopped, regarded the glass, and filled it to the top. Tonight was no time for moderation. Her tired body sunk deep into the sofa cushions as she took a languid sip.

Then the buzzer rang.

Jocelyn fairly growled, reaching for the phone with her free hand.

"Francois, I told you I'm not taking any calls tonight!" she barked exasperatedly.

"Yes," he placated, "but she says it's urgent."

"Who?"

"Kayla Deeks."

Closing her eyes to still her mind, Jocelyn nodded. "Send her up."

Not a minute later, the elevator dinged, revealing a very angry Kayla Deeks. Jocelyn didn't even need to get up from the sofa; Kayla marched across the room to stand over her friend.

"You said you'd call me this morning."

"Sorry, I was busy," Jocelyn replied.

"Oh, no!" Kayla retorted, "Busy won't cut it this time. You can't just drop a bomb on your best friend then hang up the phone. You promised me answers, and I'm not leaving until I get some!"

Jocelyn had seen Kayla this upset before, but that anger was usually pointed at her now-husband, Marty Deeks. She knew from experience there was no way to quell the storm; she must give in.

"Have some wine?" she offered in a resigned tone.

Kayla crossed her arms and raised a brow. As the mother of an eight-year-old, Kayla had mastered the art of intimidation.

"I'll tell you everything."

"That's better."

Rather than let Jocelyn help her, Kayla poured herself a glass before joining Jocelyn on the couch.

"Spill."

Jocelyn drank deeply before turning back to Kayla. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

So Jocelyn told her everything. She spoke of her upbringing, her mother's departure, Sophia's death, her father's ultimatum, her escape to England, and her eventual enrollment in the police academy. Jocelyn glossed over her issues at the station, and how no one thought she belonged. She confessed to Callen's kiss at the wedding, his rejection of her at the crime scene, and finally, the events of the past two days.

"So then after my father's gala, we nearly kiss in the pool."

"What?"

"I'm talking mind-blowing sexual tension…and he just walks away."

"What I want to know," Kayla inquired, "is why you never told me any of this in the first place."

They'd gone through a bottle and a half of wine together, though Jocelyn suspected it was her doing most of the drinking. Kayla kept her friend's glass filled and to keep Jocelyn's mouth moving. Indeed, her lips were well lubricated; close-kept secrets poured out like sand through a sieve.

"I guess I've gotten so used to not talking about any of it. Then you came back, and I was so wrapped up in helping you that I never thought of filling you in on my past."

"Don't you dare blame me for this," Kayla replied edgily. "This is your own doing."

Jocelyn blinked, set her glass down, and took Kayla's hand. "I was afraid," she admitted. "I was afraid that if I told anyone about it, everything would come back to life again-and it has! Jackson's back, my father and I are arguing again. It's only a matter of time before the whole precinct knows my past. That'll give them an actual reason to hate me, if they don't already. Gabe already doubts my validity as a detective."

"What is it with Callen anyway?" Kayla cracked a smile. "I asked Marty, and all he said is that Callen doesn't date law enforcement. Something about trust issues."

"From what I've seen, trust issues do seem to be an issue with him. Gabe and I declared _pax_, but he's far from trusting me."

"_I wonder why_."

"Shut up!"

"It's just...you have this reputation, and he's basically a hermit."

"He may even be a hermit, but I don't believe he's a monk," Jocelyn replied wickedly.

Kayla shrieked with laughter. "I don't know, I've never seen him with anyone."

"Yes, but no _monk _kisses the way Gabriel Callen does."_  
_

"I still can't believe you never told me you grew up rich."

"You think every cop has a penchant for Louboutins and Stella McCartney?"

"Whatever floats their boat."

"I don't like to talk about it usually, it leads to a lot of typecasting. My relationship with my coworkers is tenuous at best."

"You aren't exactly the usual fare for a detective."

"I keep hearing that."

"So what is it about Callen, then? Why are you so determined to prove him wrong about you?"

Jocelyn screwed up her face. "I know. It's just…when we talk, when we forget who we are and what we do, Callen and I can converse on _any _level. I've never really knew that was possible-at least, not with a guy I'm not related to."

"Wow." Kayla smiled. "You've got it bad."

"The thing is, I respect myself more than this! I'm better than the girl who pines after the guy who doesn't even want her."

"That's just because you've never cared before. I have never met anyone who sleeps around as much as you _without_ being easy. No offense, hon, but men have always been disposable to you."

"It's better that way."

"You can maintain that delusion all you want."

"I _want_ him out of my head. I don't need to be crying over the one man who doesn't want me."

"So don't!" Kayla exclaimed. "What advice would you give me…ah! You need a palate cleanser."

"I need to get laid."

"Eh, tomato, tahmato." The blonde sipped her wine. "LA is is full of eligible guys! Pick one!"

"Believe it or not, honey, it doesn't work like that."

"What? You're gorgeous!"

"Yes," Jocelyn replied wryly, "But desperation smells as bad as a skunk on a summer's day."


	10. Chapter 10

Ah, sweet normality. Callen reveled in the simple, easy chemistry of down time with the team. Life flowed well in the open square that was their office. Kensi rifled through her disorganized drawers in search of a pen. Deeks helpfully tossed her one; it hit her square in the forehead. Sam hunched over his computer, probably filling out reports diligently.

With a sigh, Callen leaned back in his chair once more, tucking his hands behind his head. This was better. No interfering socialite detectives to mess with his head. No stubborn revenge-driven sirens to make him question his code. Simple and straightforward.

As team leader, he could guess what any one member of his team would do in just about any scenario. If Eric were to whistle, they'd all come running. Deeks would crack a joke. Kensi would retaliate. Sam would stand at attention but would make no bones about putting the junior agent and liaison in their place.

Hart would find some way to infuriate him.

_Hart?_

Even absent, the detective made her way into his thoughts. Callen lifted his chin enough to look over at Deeks. Did he know about Hart's past? It would be so easy to ask. As an investigator, Callen had the instincts to follow every lead no matter how personal, but he had rules against this when it came to friendships. He didn't ask Kensi about her father. He didn't ask Deeks about his mother. He never, ever, asked Sam about his time undercover with Quinn. It wasn't done. Friends were allowed their secrets.

_But was Hart a friend or a colleague?_ He knew right off the bat that no colleague would ever coax him back to bed with a massage or stand in a pool with lips so close he could feel the heat emanating from them. That wasn't part of the job and he knew it.

The name friend, however, indicated a level of trust that Callen did not feel for the detective. There was affection, squelched as it was, but trust needed to be earned and so far, she hadn't secured it in their short acquaintance.

Curiosity won. He pulled his computer into his lap.

_SOPHIE HARMON_, his fingers typed away. Callen hesitated for the slightest moment before executing the search.

The familiar forms and folders populated on his screen. _CASE CLOSED_. Cause of death: _OVERDOSE; SUICIDE_. The crime scene itself was tame in comparison to those he'd witnessed with NCIS, but a small part of him looked through Hart's eyes and saw the terror she experienced.

Sophie had been a beautiful girl; Callen could tell from the reference photo. With wide blue eyes, fair skin, and blonde hair, she looked the perfect image of purity. Dressed in a pale yellow sundress, she looked just as virginal in the crime scene images-at least on the surface. Her face was pale but peaceful in death's clutches, blonde hair splayed out on the sheets as if she was simply sleeping. But her arms and legs displayed bruises in all shapes, sizes, and levels of recovery. Beside her, a plastic bag lay among a few scattered pills that Callen recognized instantly as sleeping pills.

Shaking his head, the agent moved on to the witness statements. Parents understandably shocked, staff equally so. Only one interview stood out: that of one seventeen year old Jocelyn Hart, who found the body.

Hart supplied Jackson Pryor, victim's boyfriend, as suspect, the report read. Hart states the victim was not suicidal and "refused to take pills of any kind". Reading on, Callen discovered that that line of questioning was dropped quickly as the Pryor lawyers stepped in. Without any evidence to back Hart's claims against the powerful Pryor family, the case was quickly ruled a suicide and shelved.

Flipping through the photos once more, Callen took in a wide shot of the room. CSU was busy moving about, but it wasn't the activity of the room that caught his attention. It was the teenager standing in a corner.

_Hart_.

Mascara and eyeliner streaked her made up face. One hand fisted in her hair, the other wrapped tightly around her torso. Her clothes were expensive; she teetered against the wall in six-inch heels and mini dress. Her expression was painfully familiar, one he'd seen countless times in the line of duty: the face of a girl whose life had been shattered. Callen regarded her for a long minute before snapping the laptop shut. He felt like he'd intruded on her most private moment, even if she didn't know it. One thing was for certain: he'd never look at her the same way again.

* * *

"I need a warrant to exhume Sophie Harmon's body."

The chief looked up at Jocelyn with raised eyebrows. "And good morning to you, detective."

Belatedly, Jocelyn checked herself. "_Sir_, I would like a warrant to exhume Sophie Harmon's body."

"Better."

But instead of addressing Jocelyn's request, the chief merely dug through her desk.

"Sir?"

The chief produced a thick file. "Do you know what this is, Detective?"

"No, Sir."

"This is you. Every arrest you've made, every request you've made. You've made four requests to exhume Ms. Harmon's body, each with insubstantial evidence. Now I may be new to this position, but I know a vendetta when I see it."

"But this time I have proof!" Jocelyn brandished the evidence-bagged letter.

The chief examined the letter closely. "Why is this so important to you?"

"Jackson Pryor is responsible for the death of Sophie Harmon and I mean to do right by her."

"Even if your accusations are true, you are aware we don't allow our detectives to investigate personal cases. The conflict of interest is too strong."

Jocelyn bit back a frustrated growl. "No one else is pursuing it. I can find more proof, I just need her body exhumed."

"And if we find nothing? What then?"

"I'll keep digging."

"Wrong answer." The chief rose. "You have already accepted Pryor's guilt as fact. You disregard any evidence against that theory, and any tiny shred of evidence for it is treated as law."

"Sir-"

"That being said, I will allow this letter to be authenticated. IF it has merit, I will assign Miss Harmon's case to another team of detectives and exhume her body. YOU will steer clear of this case from here on out."

Despite the disappointment of her removal from the case, the idea of it moving forward filled her with hope. "Thank you, Sir!"

The chief rose. "I like you, Hart, I do, but you need to learn that just because you've been scarred doesn't mean you deserve special treatment. Just about every one of us has a story, something that drove us to seek justice. We all have a hot button."

Jocelyn hesitated for a moment. "Sir, why did you place me under Carlson?"

"You needed a partner, so did he. Carlson's only a couple months out from his 20. Survive under him and once he's gone you'll have your pick of the litter."

* * *

Sleep eluded Jocelyn, so she chose to pour over what copies of the Harmon case files she had. Alina still hadn't called, and dread filled her each time she thought of the young Russian. So few abuse victims followed through with prosecution; she only hoped Alina would come forward. Rubbing her tired eyes once more, she glanced around her loft.

It was simply but tastefully furnished with cream cushioned sofas and wooden accents. An eye-catching original painting took center stage behind the sofa. The artist's desk she had once used for painting was now scattered with police reports and evidence photographs.

Her eyelids fluttered once more as she rested her head on the desk in her folded arms.

_Ring! Ring!_

Carefully organized papers went flying as Jocelyn jerked upright.

"Hart?" she greeted blearily.

"Jocelyn?"

"Alina?" She was wide awake now. "Is everything okay?"

"I-um-for now," she hesitated. "Can we meet?"

"It's three in the morning, Alina."

"I know. I just don't know when else I'll be able to get away."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm ready to talk."

Jocelyn's heart soared. "Okay. Where are you?"

"I'm headed to an abandoned beach a few miles outside of town."

Alina rattled off general directions as Jocelyn did her best to memorize them.

"How soon can you be there?"

"30 minutes."

"Good."

The line went dead.

The detective's mind went into overdrive as she dialed Callen's number. It was no secret the agent never slept and this time that quirk worked to her advantage. She'd never hear the end of it if she didn't call him and her desire to keep Alina safe outweighed any grudges she had against the agent.

"Callen."

She had been right. He sounded alert and awake. "Gabe, it's Jocelyn. Alina just called me and she's willing to talk."

She quickly rattled off details of the meet.

"Let me call this in first; we'll need the rest of the gang for backup."

"There's no time!" Jocelyn replied urgently. "I'm not going to wait. Either you come with me or you don't, but I'm not leaving her."

Callen knew full well the dangers of going to a meet alone, but he also knew that on one could dissuade the stubborn detective.

"I'm coming with you,, but I'm calling the team on the way," he compromised.

"Deal," she sighed. "I'll be outside your place in five."

* * *

Silence fell thick around the duo as they traveled. Jocelyn focused her eyes on the drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, praying that Callen wouldn't realize just how nervous she was. She envied him, leaning against the passenger window in his leather jacket, all nonchalance, as if he picked up abused Russian girls for questioning all the time.

_Maybe he did._

She slanted her gaze in his direction, but he was rummaging in his pockets.

"Tootsie pop?" he asked, unearthing two brightly wrapped candies.

Surprised, Jocelyn nodded, accepting the red one. It was an odd early morning snack, but it was oddly comforting to have something mundane to focus on.

"I always have a handful of these on me," he confessed. "Gives me something to do on a stakeout."

"Mmm," Jocelyn pulled the stick out of her mouth. "Delicious and light on trash."

"Sam makes origami with the wrappers."

Jocelyn quirked a brow skeptically.

"Cranes, frogs, swans...he's actually pretty good."

The image of the large Navy SEAL creating tiny folds on the little wrappers brought a smile to Jocelyn's face. "Now THAT is something I'd like to see."

"Stick around and you might. You know they're going to put you on most of the NCIS cases after this."

Jocelyn was confused. "But Deeks is the liaison."

"So he is, but you of all people should know how little the LEOs like him over there."

"You should know they don't like me either."

"Yeah, but that's different. They don't know what to think of you, while they know exactly what to think of Deeks."

"I thought it would get easier," Jocelyn admitted. "It's been ten years and I still haven't been accepted."

"Maybe you haven't found your niche."

"SVU _is_ my niche," she lamented. "It's all I've wanted since Sophie."

"Have you considered transferring?"

"Every other precinct is out of Sophie's jurisdiction."

Callen knew her frustration. He had jumped from agency to agency looking for the right line at his past before settling at NCIS, and only then had he found his family.

Jocelyn squared her shoulders. "Okay, I'm going to say something and...it's difficult to say."

"Whoa." Callen put up his hands. "If you're propositioning me, you already know the answer."

"Don't flatter yourself," Jocelyn remarked dryly. "That ship has sailed."

_It hadn't_. If he kissed her now, she'd take him all the way, but that was not what she needed to talk about. Instead, she gripped the steering wheel harder and glared at the road.

Callen relaxed. "Okay."

"You were right."

"Of course I was," he grinned. "What was I right about?"

"You were right when you said I'm a spoiled princess. You were also right for calling me a whore."

"I never said you were a whore."

"You insinuated as much."

She looked so pathetic; Callen had to say something. "That was harsh."

"Is that an apology?"

"No," he amended quickly. "Apologies are a sign of weakness."

Jocelyn blinked at him. "Please tell me that isn't carved in stone."

Callen pouted in thought. "It might be stitched on a pillow somewhere."

A silent laugh passed between them, breaking the tension. For just a moment, Jocelyn allowed herself to be mesmerized by his eyes, impossibly blue in the light of a passing vehicle.

Then suddenly they grew to the size of saucers; his face paling dramatically.

"HART!"

In a fraction of a second, Jocelyn realized three things: the headlights belonged to a black SUV; secondly, it was speeding up; and third, it wasn't passing-it was heading straight for them. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, asking her whether to fight or flee, but her body went rigid.

"Damn it, Hart," Callen swore, his hands joining hers to wrench the steering wheel to the side.

The jolt of bodily contact snapped her back to reality and she slammed the car into reverse. The Charger spun around wildly as she struggled for control. They needed the SUV behind them, but the dusting of beach sand on the asphalt made it difficult to grip the road properly. The car handled well, but the roads were dusted with sand, making it nearly impossible to grip the asphalt. The car teetering perilously close to the dunes; the wheels squealed in protest.

"Do you think this was a trap?" Callen shouted above the noise.

Jocelyn was too focused on keeping the car upright to contradict him.

_SLAM!_

The SUV hit the Charger's bumper, driving them forward even faster than before. White hot pain slashed through Callen's forehead as it slammed against the dashboard; Jocelyn chanced a glance at her companion to confirm his lucidity.

_You okay?_

Her eyes were full of panic, but he responded with a sharp nod of his chin.

_Okay_.

What courage she lacked, Jocelyn took from him.

The car screeched in protest as she yanked the wheel toward the dunes, forcing their assailants to ride with them. The move gave Jocelyn the upper hand; if briefly. Though fast, the Charger was low to the ground and easily caught in the sand while the SUV's four wheel drive rose above the muck. Swerving away and back, Jocelyn broadsided their attackers, turning them away from the fast-approaching surf. Too late, she realized, the change in direction sandwiched Jocelyn between the SUV and the ocean.

"Shit," she breathed, her arms straining on the wheel as the sand gummed the gears.

The dark car separated long enough to avoid a trash can, allowing Jocelyn the barest moment to observe the beach in front of them. Headlights washed the sand with white light; a pale, ghostly figure stood, frozen in their path.

"Alina!"

Without a second thought, Jocelyn slammed the breaks. Unready for the Charger's absence, the SUV careened into the dangerously wet sand of the surf, but Jocelyn didn't pay them a single thought. They screeched to a halt in a cloud of sand, and Callen's head came perilously close to the dashboard once more.

Next time, I'm driving, Callen swore to himself. Instead, he turned in his seat to open the back door.

"Get in!" Jocelyn called to the girl.

Shivering and windblown, Alina didn't have to be told twice. As she scrambled across the dunes, Callen noticed two black-clad figures emerge from the sand-swamped SUV.

"Hurry!" he urged, but he already knew she wouldn't make it without help. Callen unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to Jocelyn. "No matter what happens, take the girl and don't look back."

"What?"

* * *

_This is the last time I answer a call from Hart_, Callen vowed as he launched himself into the fight. The hastily constructed extraction was going south quickly. Not only were they followed, their attackers looked to be professional grade. He wanted nothing more than to draw his gun and shoot the newcomers into oblivion, but they were moving too fast; he might hit Alina.

The first attacker, bald and menacing, made contact first with a right hook. Callen ducked nimbly and landed a hit to the Baldy's sternum. The second, a redheaded woman, rushed past him; he barely managed to get a foot out to trip her. She rose quickly, spitting sand from her mouth, but the delay worked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hart shield Alina in her arms and pull her to the Charger. The wheels spun wildly before gaining enough traction to speed toward the road.

He breathed an inward sigh of relief before swinging at Baldy once more. Victory was short lived as the redhead's foot caught him sharply behind the knee. Callen's leg buckled, but he caught her arm before it made contact with his throat.

_Where was Sam_-or Kensi and Deeks for that matter? This was two against one; the attackers were ruthless and well-trained. He'd been doing this long enough to know he was outskilled, and if Sam didn't get here soon, he'd be six feet under.

Somewhere in his mind, he registered that the Charger had stopped escaping. In his peripheral, he saw Hart exit the vehicle and rush toward him.

"No!" he tried to protest, but he was too busy keeping Baldy from the wheel of the car. If he could just keep them distracted for long enough, Alina could get away with Hart and Sam would come to the rescue.

She looked so frightened, racing across the dunes toward him, but he was a team leader and he knew when to make the hard decisions.

"Get out of here!" he shouted at her.

Her brows knitted together in confusion and he wondered if she might fight his orders.

"Go!" he called again, even as Red aimed a flurry of punches at his abdomen.

Nodding, Hart turned on her heel, got in the car, and sped away.

A burst of strength flowed through his muscles. Callen regained his feet and returned Red's punches blow for blow. He landed a strong uppercut; she crumpled to the ground.

_One more._

Callen swung too wide; Baldy closed his fist around Callen's and didn't let go. The agent pivoted, using the assailant's own arm as a choker, only to discover his mistake. Before he knew it, Baldy had curled forward, flinging Callen over his back and onto the sand. The air left Callen's lungs in a whoosh; he choked on his own breath.

Baldy's fist barreled into the agent's face and he knew no more.

* * *

Author's note: Sorry this took me so long to post! I drafted it about a thousand times; it had to be very exact to line up the next few chapters (which will be up soon). Thank you so much for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, Jocelyn repeated to herself.

The red car sped down the oceanside boulevard as Alina Kirsonov sat in the passenger seat doing exactly that: panicking. A mixture of Russian expletives and coherent sentences poured from her lips rapid-fire, and Jocelyn was hard pressed to pay attention.

"My father told me I'd been promised to some politician. If I left, it would be his head, and my mother's. That's why he never hurt me more; I needed to be beautiful for my husband. But I'm no longer a virgin, and that would cost him. He said he would kill me and pass it off as a random act of violence."

"Alina, be quiet."

"I still can't believe you left him!"

"Alina, please be quiet. You can tell us when we see the others."

"How could you leave him behind? Your own fiancé!"

_Not my fiancé._

The detective's fingers gripped the steering wheel as if it was her sanity. She was one touch away from unloading on the very woman she wanted to save. Instead, she peeled one hand off the wheel and dialed Sam's phone.

"Hart?" the agent answered. "What's going on?"

"They got him, Sam," she choked out. "They got Gabe."

* * *

_Where am I?_

The thought echoed vacantly in Callen's head as he slowly awoke. Consciousness spread through his body; he silently assessed his state. First, he noted he was seated on a chair, the coolness of the metal felt through his t-shirt. His hands were numb; he wiggled his fingers gingerly only to discover they were tied around the back of the chair. His legs were similarly bound to the legs of the chair.

Blinking slowly, he suppressed a wince and took note that his left eye was swollen and likely bruised. His nose, too, felt itchy. He wiggled it, dislodging some of the blood caked down his lip. Bodily assessment complete, he moved on to his surroundings.

There was little ambient light.

_Basement._

No sounds filtered in from the outside world.

_Soundproof basement._

Eyes slid left to right, but other than his chair and one other, the room was empty. His exit was maybe five paces in front of him, a wooden staircase upward ending in a probably locked door.

He stretched his fingers again; pins and needles shot up his arm.

_Good_, he thought. Pain meant blood was flowing. What he wouldn't give for someone to scratch his nose.

The door creaked open and Callen allowed himself to go limp once more.

Footsteps descended the stairs; Callen counted ten in total. A hulking shadow blocked out the ceiling lamp and he knew Baldy stood above him.

"Anything?" a female voice called down in Russian.

Interesting. That cinched his suspicion these were the Russian consul's fixers.

"No," Baldy replied, also in Russian. "He's still unconscious."

"Poor baby," Red remarked, joining Baldy. "What was he doing there anyway?"

"Maybe he was just along for the ride."

"Because rich, corporate philanthropists follow their fiancées to extractions? He was packing and knew how to fight well enough to knock me out."

Callen suppressed the urge to laugh. They still thought he was Jocelyn's fiancé! They underestimated his skill; he could use that against them. Already they assumed he didn't speak the language...a language he'd heard since birth.

"From what I hear, his corporation is international. Guys like him learn to fight in case of kidnapping. He's been trained for this, that's the only explanation."

There was a moment of silence as Red contemplated Baldy's theory. "Trained or not, this stinks to high heaven. Our orders were simple: snag the daughter and deliver her to her parents. It's common knowledge Hart is a royal screw-up; the job should have been easy."

"Now that we have him, what do we do?"

"Do?" Red repeated. "We call his girlfriend."

"The detective?"

"The one who's so madly in love with him, she'd do anything we say just to get him back. Love is blind and stupid, Alex. She'll swap the girl for the boyfriend; we just have to ask nicely."

"And you just let them go?"

"Of course not!" Red laughed. "Hart is a loose end. Once we have her, we dispose of her and her lover."

"What if she doesn't come?"

"Oh, she'll come. Shame, too; this one's quite the looker." Red sighed wistfully. "Wake him up."

* * *

"You did WHAT?" Sam growled for the umpteenth time.

Back in the boathouse, Jocelyn managed to finish her tale without breaking. Alina was deposited in the interrogation room, but at this particular moment, Jocelyn was in the hot seat.

"He ordered me to leave him behind," Jocelyn defended.

"That doesn't mean you actually do!"

Kensi and Deeks stood wisely to the side, passively watching the debate.

"I'm sorry!" Jocelyn's own guilt stung; she deflected it by firing back at the SEAL. "I'm sorry for saving a domestic abuse victim from the corrupt consul with diplomatic immunity!"

"Save your sarcasm," Sam shot back. "You are without a doubt the worst excuse for a detective I have ever had the displeasure of working with."

Jocelyn opened her mouth in protest, but he cut her off.

"You put together a high risk extraction with no backup, risking not only your own pathetic life, but the life of another. Now, we don't know if he's dead or just held for unimaginable reasons. I hope you lose your badge for this."

Though Jocelyn was used to hearing such sentiments, the words were usually passed behind her back or by her father...who she'd tuned out long ago. The truth she'd long denied,, spoken face to face, hit her square in the chest.

She gathered herself with a deep breath and looked Sam in the eye. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but we do have to work together. I never intended to leave him behind, and now that they've got him, I intend to get him back."

"The hell you will," Sam swore. "Your incompetence is what got him caught in the first place."

"For the last time, I did as I was told."

"As if you ever do what you're told."

Agent Sam Hanna was an intimidating character. The red shirt stretched across his hulking muscles; the vein in his neck pulsed with barely suppressed rage. Deeks knew Sam was only speaking out of fear for his partner, but Jocelyn didn't. It was her hard-taught stubbornness that stuck her to her guns.

"He made the hard decision, and so did I. Now let me help you get him back."

"Over my dead body. Stay with the girl if she's so important to you."

Deeks had enough. "That's not fair and you know it," he spoke, stepping forward.

The full measure of Sam's rage turned on his coworker, pinning him where he stood. Sam drew breath to let Deeks have it, but was interrupted by a familiar ring.

Jocelyn winced as her pocket buzzed and chimed; every eye turned on her.

"Hart."

Jocelyn's heart caught in her chest at the sound of the heavily-accented female voice.

"If you wish to see Gabriel Clark again, you will bring the girl to West end of the Santa Monica Pier by noon today."

Sam pressed his ear against the phone to hear the message as well. Deeks pulled up the video feed with the click of a button and texted Eric to trace the number calling Jocelyn.

"That's too soon," Jocelyn objected, in an attempt to extend the call. She'd made a royal mess of everything; she was determined to do this right.

"Noon, or never," came the rebuttal.

Against her cheek, Sam nodded his concurrence.

"Noon it is."

Proof of life, he mouthed.

"But I'm not doing anything until I know Gabe's alive."

"Fair enough."

Muffled footsteps echoed on the phone; Jocelyn waited on bated breath.

"Princess?" his voice rasped. Baldy must have hit him across the throat at some point.

"Hey, loverboy," Jocelyn smiled despite herself, Sam's Look wiped it right off.

"Could you tell one of these two Russian motherfuckers to please scratch my nose?"

Callen's cleverness was rewarded with what Jocelyn assumed was a punch to the face.

"Thanks," he snarked.

"I'm coming to get you, baby."

"Do we have a deal?" Red was back on the line. "Your fiancé for the girl?"

Jocelyn looked from Deeks to Kensi, and finally to Sam, who nodded once more.

"We have a deal."

"Come alone."

The line went dead.

Three hours later, Jocelyn stood amid the unrelenting swarm of tourists on the Santa Monica Pier. Alina was latched on to her arm, silent, but unmistakably nervous. Sam and Deeks were blended into the crowd seamlessly while Eric and Nell scanned the security cameras from back at the OSP. Kensi was aloft, her sniper rifle trained on anyone remotely suspicious.

In contrast to Jocelyn's previously catastrophic operation, this quickly scrambled rescue felt professional. A wave of guilt swept over her once more, reminding her just how terribly she'd behaved. No one agreed to an extraction within thirty minutes of the act without proper backup and preparation. She was far too junior to take on the responsibility and far too cocky to ignore Callen's instruction. It would be a wonder if he ever wanted to see her again after this.

"I'm going to say it," Deeks broke the comm silence. "I don't like this. It's too crowded."

"Hopefully it means they won't kill Callen," Jocelyn replied.

"Or," Kensi interjected, "they could just shoot him and no one would know where the shot came from."

"Aren't you a little ray of sunshine," Deeks chided his partner.

Kensi didn't apologize. "From a tactical standpoint, this place is a nightmare. Any number of scenarios could go down, none of which play in our favor."

"Nightmare or not, we have no choice but to continue forward," Sam interjected. He was tense, and rightly so. As a Navy SEAL, Sam was trained to undergo intense stress and difficult situations. He would handle himself well in the action, but the waiting killed him.

"There's two people moving toward you, Hart," Nell's voice informed Jocelyn.

"Is Callen with them?" Sam asked.

"One female, one hooded. He's the right build, but I can't be certain."

Jocelyn resisted the urge to bite her lip. Instead, she focused on her charge. "Breathe, Alina."

The blonde beside her gulped audibly.

Then, through the crowd, the redhead emerged. Jocelyn's breath hitched; she'd recognize the outline of Callen's body anywhere. She could barely make out his chin under the shadow of the hood, and his hands were likely cuffed inside the kangaroo pocket of the jacket.

"Confirmed," she muttered. "The hoodie is Gabe."

"Didn't Callen tell us there were two bad guys?" Deeks wondered aloud.

"Already looking, partner," Kensi replied.

Red greeted with a haughty smile. "Detective Hart, I presume, and the lovely Alina."

Jocelyn nodded curtly. "How do you want to do this?"

Red glanced around. "Not here."

The detective could almost feel her teammates mental groans. They were already at a disadvantage; a change of position only played more into the enemy's hands. She hesitated, uncomfortable with the suggestion. Underneath the hood, Jocelyn barely made out Callen's nod for her to obey.

"Where to?"

"Follow me," Red instructed, expertly weaving her way through the crowd to an alley. A shop rose on one side of the pier, the other dropped into the rolling ocean. Beside the far-off parasailing boat, no one would pay witness to whatever was about to go down.

Kensi made her way across the rooftops. "Stall her," she ordered. "I'll let you know when I'm in position."

"You're cut off," Eric chimed in. "The alley's a serious blind spot."

Deeks swore as he and Sam approached the alley. "There's no way we can cover you without blowing cover."

For the second time in one day, Jocelyn found herself between a rock and a hard place, Alina Kirsonov at her side. There was no way she'd go through with the trade, but she wasn't about to blow the team's cover until Callen was safely in hand.

They stood about ten paces apart, Jocelyn's back to the ocean, Red's to the exit.

"Let me see him," she called.

Red pulled the hood off of Callen's face. Alina gasped. Jocelyn only bit her lip harder.

The agent's eye was bruised and swollen. His jaw as well showed signs of a struggle, and his nose was definitely broken.

"Baby," she sighed, "what did they do to you?"

He mustered up a grin. "Nothing I couldn't handle. You okay?"

"I'm so sorry; this is all my fault."

"In position," Kensi interrupted.

Callen took an involuntary step forward. The impulse to console her overwhelmed him, but Red's arm tightened around his.

"Not so fast; hand over the girl."

"This is a swap," Jocelyn objected. "They walk at the same time. You take your prize, I take mine."

Red flipped her hair impatiently. "Fine."

Jocelyn looked to Alina. "Ready?"

The flash of a reflection from the parasailing boat blinded Kensi for a moment. "Wait!" Kensi whispered. She pointed her scope at the suspicious boat. "There's a sniper on the boat."

"We need Callen out of her hands before you do anything," Sam reminded her.

"Well?" Red prompted.

"Hart, I've got the shot, but you'll have to tell me when."

Jocelyn released Alina as Red released Callen. It was the longest five seconds of her life as the two hostages approached each other.

"Fire!" she growled.

A shot cracked through the air like thunder as Kensi's shot rang true. Callen grabbed Alina and hit the deck. Joy flooded Jocelyn's system for the barest moment replaced by dread as Red leveled her gun at Callen. Jocelyn acted before thinking. Her gun, once tucked in the small of her back, slapped into her palms and fired a direct hit to Red's leg.

Sam and Deeks rushed in to disarm the assassin; Jocelyn could only stand in shock at what she'd just done. On the dock, Alina whimpered into Callen's shoulder.

"Don't worry, _gobulshka_," he consoled, standing with her. "I've got you."

* * *

For all the chaos of the day, the case promised to wrap up cleanly. Alina's testimony, finally recorded and coherent, answered any questions NCIS had. Red, her given name Alexa Romanov, took a bit more coaxing. Callen was more than happy to coerce her and, when faced with her former captive, she told all.

Callen watched Jocelyn closely throughout the proceedings. The hypersensitivity to her every move was a shock even him. Whether it was because she'd just saved his life or because he knew how she must feel, he didn't know. He refused to even entertain the third option: that he cared.

She never left Alina's side, but she didn't speak much either-unusual for the typically talkative detective. The end of the interviews found Alina asleep on the sofa, Jocelyn guarding her on the matching loveseat. Borrowed jean shorts cropped to reveal toned legs, curled onto the cushions. Jocelyn's face was void of emotion, but the bags under her eyes betrayed the truth: she was beyond exhausted.

Empathy flooded his conscience; he knew exactly what she was feeling. Deeks had given her a hug of encouragemet while Callen looked on resentfully. He dared not explore the cause of the annoyance, choosing to answer his phone instead.

"You seem to have survived another day, Mr. Callen," Hetty greeted him. For a former agent and all around badass, the warmth in her voice held a motherly tone.

"Can't get rid of me that easily."

"So it seems. How are you feeling?"

"A little bruised, but nothing I can't handle."

"And Ms. Hart?" Hetty asked innocently.

Callen glanced over at the detective. "Outwardly unscathed. I can't comment on her mindset, though. She isn't cut out for this."

"That is something she will have to discover for herself."

The agent bristled. "She's going to get herself killed long before then. It's not like I'll be on every case she gets."

"Just because she may or may not be cut out for this job does not mean she can't do it. Ms. Hart is a very capable person who has yet to plumb the depths of her potential. It isn't your place to protect her."  
"She can barely protect herself."

"She saved your life, Mr. Callen. Don't discredit her abilities so quickly. Ms. Hart could have sent someone in her place or let you escape on your own-like another woman in your acquaintance."

The reference to Tracy cut to Callen's gut. It wasn't like Hetty to bring up his ex wife, but the comparison was relevant. Jocelyn may not be the model detective, but she had risked her life when Tracy had blanched. Callen looked over to the woman on the sofa. She was tired and scared but brave all at once.

"Mr. Callen?" Hetty interrupted his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"Be sure to get the ring back from Ms. Hart."

"Understood," he replied. "I'll wait for WitSec here."

Attaching the phone to his hip once more, Callen made his way over to Jocelyn.

"What was that all about?" she asked as he sat beside her.

"Hetty wants to make sure I get the ring back."

Jocelyn blinked. "Right. I bet you're glad to be a free man once again."

"Engagement to you wasn't that bad," he laughed. "I've had worse fake relationships."

"Oh?" Jocelyn's curiosity was piqued.

"Stories for another time, Princess."

It was only when she worked the ring off her finger and placed it in his palm. His hand closed around hers.

"Hart, you're shaking."

"It's just the shock," she shrugged, looking away. "I'll be fine after a good night's sleep."

Her hand was cold in his, but he didn't let go.

"How are you holding up?"

"I'll be fine."

"You did just shoot someone."

"She was going to shoot you."

Behind green eyes, Jocelyn fought to keep herself together, but one look into his icy blue ones and all bravado disappeared.

"Gabe, I was so worried!" she breathed. "I thought you were going to die."

"But I'm fine now. I've been shot countless times anyway," he grinned valiantly. "I've got a torso like swiss cheese."

Her whole body trembled with relief. "I know. I just couldn't imagine losing you. You're too valuable to your team and I'm just a screw up."

"You aren't a screw up."

"Don't lie to me, I know you think it, too. At least have the guts to say it to my face."

"I'm not saying you aren't a bit unorthodox, but you solved the case, and saved both Alina and I." He lifted her chin with his free hand when she looked away again. "Jocelyn Hart, I owe you my life."  
The conviction in his words struck Jocelyn's core. Callen could see his words strike home. Her body relaxed for a moment, then before he knew what was happening, her lips were on his.

* * *

Jocelyn didn't know if it was exhaustion or if she was just glad to be alive, but she knew that Callen's lips were just the medicine she needed. Her fingers laced through his, drawing him closer to receive the nearness she craved. It was his choice to respond; she was happy to take a single kiss and walk away, but right as she moved to break the kiss, he deepened it.

One calloused hand tangled itself in her raven locks, the other took hold of her waist and pulled her into his lap. Her mind went blissfully blank as his tongue slid into her gasping mouth. The adventures and misadventures of the day were wiped clean. Only Jocelyn and Callen remained.

In the back of his mind, Callen knew this was a bad idea. He'd laid down the law for her before: no relationships with law enforcement personnel.

_A kiss isn't a relationship,_ a wicked thought reminded him. _You need this as much as her._

He wasn't thinking with his head right now anyway. He would remind Jocelyn of the rules...in just a moment.

This moment was pure sensation. His fingers roved her body, committing the landscape of every supple curve to memory. The bared skin of her legs was smooth and flawless; the uncharted territory of her neck reaped the reward of a throaty moan. He wondered what other treasures unexplored mountains and caves could yield. Her hands, too, explored the velvet of his close-cropped hair, urging his intrepid lips onward. Careful of his bruised face and bandaged nose, her tenderness was infuriating.

He should stop, he reminded himself. Alina slept only a few feet away, albeit soundly, and the sounds Jocelyn exuded gained volume with every touch. But she kissed like Aphrodite herself, with experience and passion and purpose. Any lesser man would be lost right now, and Callen was well on his way down the winding path.

A curt rap at the door ended his inward battle.

"WitSec!"

Jocelyn nearly fell extricating herself from her companion. Callen avoided her gaze, so she rose to answer the door. On the sofa, Alina's eyelids fluttered in confusion. Callen breathed an inward sigh of relief; she hadn't seen anything.

"Are you ready, Alina?" Jocelyn asked.

Alina nodded. "I'm ready."

Jocelyn handed her a business card. "If you ever need anything, call me. I'll be there."

"You know that she can't contact anyone from her past directly," one of the Marshals interrupted. "Her enemies know who you are and will be on the lookout."

Annoyance flared; Jocelyn's face flushed. "Aren't you charming."

Callen put a calming hand on Jocelyn's arm but spoke to the offending Marshal. "But you will contact her should Ms. Kirsonov need Ms. Hart's assistance."

"You'll be all right?" Jocelyn asked Alina once more.

"I'll be fine. I was scared to do this before, but any time I'm scared, I'll think of you."

Jocelyn embraced the girl. "I'll tell you a secret: I was terrified."

"That's what makes you the perfect person to inspire."

"We've got to move," the Marshal broke them apart with his tone alone.

Like that, Alina was gone. Jocelyn sank back into the sofa but Callen didn't move.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Jocelyn addressed the agent's incredulous look.

"I did tell you this couldn't happen."

"But it just did. Alina's free and clear."

"You know damn well I'm not talking about Alina."

She knew. She understood exactly what he meant, but she'd reached maximum absorption.

"It was just a kiss, _Callen_. No risk of relationship here."

"You're playing with fire, you know that?"

"You needed that kiss as much as I did," she shot back defiantly.

Damn her, he did. "It won't happen again."

Just for the fun of it, Jocelyn licked her lips. "I'll do my best to resist."

"I'm serious, Hart."

She stood stiffly, crossed to the door, and glared at him.

"You won't need to worry about it anyway; the case is over. No need to work together again. My incompetence won't put your life in danger again."

The door slammed behind her, leaving a flabbergasted Callen in its wake. He scrubbed his face with his hands. It was unlikely he'd ever untangle the intricate tapestry of Jocelyn Hart's moods and motivations.


	12. Chapter 12

"I still can't believe you kissed him," Kayla laughed, handing Jocelyn another cookbook.

Jocelyn dutifully stacked it in the box labelled 'KITCHEN'. "How many of these do you have?"

After much deliberation, Kayla and Deeks had decided to move into her childhood home. As best friend, Jocelyn was drafted for packing duty along with Kayla's surrogate mother, Claire. A week had passed since Alina's rescue and Jocelyn was doing the best she could to distract herself from the memories.

"Sometimes the best recipes aren't on the internet," Kayla shrugged. "Don't change the subject."

"You absolutely can believe I kissed him."

"That's the worst part. When will you learn to keep it in your pants? Claire, back me up."

"Oh, no, you aren't pulling me into this just because I'm a shrink."

"Come on, Kayla. You're telling me you were never overwhelmed and needed…" Jocelyn's eyes sparked with mischief "… companionship?"

"No!"

Jocelyn quirked a brow. Kayla blushed.

"Maybe, but at least we were committed to each other. You can't seem to stop making out with the one guy who doesn't want you."

"He kissed me back," Jocelyn defended.

"He's attracted to you, of course he kissed you back."

Jocelyn and Kayla turned to Claire in surprise.

"I thought you said you weren't going to chime in," Jocelyn accused Claire with a smile.

The older woman shrugged. "It's hard to resist the drama."

"There is an utter _lack_ of drama here, Claire."

"You kiss a man under the stars then pretend to be his fiancee—during which you kiss him multiple times—and _then_ he gets himself captured helping you rescue Alina. Out of gratitude and need for 'companionship' you share your most passionate kiss yet. Face it, honey, that's drama."

"Fine." Jocelyn threw up her hands. "I prefer my men uncomplicated, attractive, and passing."

"Bullshit," Kayla laughed aloud. "You _live_ for the drama. Why else would you be so stuck on the one man in all of California who _doesn't _want you. Unless…" she paused for dramatic effect. "you really like him."

"It's attraction, pure and simple."

"It's affection," Claire spoke up with an apologetic shrug.

"The last thing I need is to go pining after some emotionally stunted insomniac with mommy _and_ daddy issues."

Kayla smirked. "You liiiike him."

"I refuse to let you turn me into a emotional ooze. You were hopeless enough gushing over Deeks."

"Are you insinuating I was pathetic when pining after my husband?"

"Don't worry, sweetie, it was entertaining; I just don't picture myself stooping to that level."

"Pardon me for falling in love with my husband. Those days were some of the most fun in my life."

"What's fun about having 90% of your brain power taken up by a man who may or may not be interested in you?"

"I liked having him on my brain all the time. It was a game; memorizing his favorite things, figuring out how to make him smile. I _lived_ for the odd compliment."

"Exactly!" Jocelyn exclaimed victoriously. "Pathetic."

Pulling herself up to her full five feet ten inches, Kayla towered over her sitting friend. "It only seems pathetic to those who have never experienced it. And may I recall you were an advocate of my romance?"

"I am an advocate of _you_."

"You only wanted to feed off the drama."

"That is _unfair_!" Jocelyn jumped to her feet.

"_You're_ being unfair!"

Silence reigned. Jocelyn and Kayla glared at each other, neither party backing down. Somewhere inside the detective's mind, Jocelyn noted how strong her friend had become. Eight years ago—even one year ago—Kayla Deeks was an insecure, scarred domestic abuse survivor. Not anymore. She stood, arms crossed, facing off against her closes friend. Marriage was good for her.

Jocelyn sighed and lowered her arms. "You're right, sweetie. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you, you messed up chick." Kayla squeezed Jocelyn's shoulder. "But you need to realize there's something wrong with the way you approach the men in your life."

Claire laughed and Jocelyn shrugged. "If he'd slept with me that first night, there would be no drama."

In the corner, Claire was deep in thought. "Did you ever stop to think he didn't sleep with you because he likes you?"

"He didn't sleep with me…because he likes me?" Jocelyn puzzled. "I thought you were supposed to be smart about people."

"He said he wouldn't sleep with you because you were a cop, right?"

"Yes."

"But he already knew your reputation of hit it and quit it."

"Deeks told him."

"Government agent capable of compartmentalizing his life can't have a one night stand and keep things professional?" Claire posed the question.

"Deeks slept with half the cops in California and managed to keep it professional and Deeks is the least professional person I know," Kayla added.

"Ergo, he didn't sleep with you because he's afraid he wouldn't be able to walk away after one night."

A bark of laughter escaped Jocelyn's lips. "Because Gabriel Callen wants a committed relationship? He doesn't strike me as the marrying kind; he was terrified at the thought of being engaged to me—and that was fake."

"That's because he's been married before."

"What?" Jocelyn and Kayla turned as one.

"You heard me."

The gears in Jocelyn's mind started turning. "He insinuated I wasn't his first fiancee, but I thought he was kidding. What happened?"

"That's something you should ask him. He came to NCIS right after I left, but Hetty had me read his file."

"I've read his file, too," Jocelyn stipulated, "but I never saw anything about a wife."

"Hetty tends to have more details than most."

"Did she die?" Kayla asked.

"No."

Jocelyn raised her chin indignantly. "Why would that even matter? That's his problem."

"Joce!" Kayla rebuked her friend. "That's insensitive, even for you."

"It won't change what I think of him."

"Oh, grow up! Not everything is about you."

"He's in my head. This is totally about me."

"If you're going to be so pigheaded about this, at least admit you like him."

"Why?"

"So you can convince me that your mind isn't filled completely with self-centered, self-serving, ego-centric impulses. I know you only befriended me because I remind you of Sophie, but I don't care because you're the closest thing I'll ever have to a sister and you helped me when I needed you. So do me a favor and humor me."

"Kaye…" Jocelyn warned her friend darkly.

"Tell me one thing," ordered Kayla, "one thing you like about him."

"Besides his looks," Claire added.

Kayla agreed with the codicil. "Yeah."

The detective shifted on her feet and smiled tightly. "He gives good advice."

"_I_ give good advice," Kayla objected.

"Advice giving isn't exclusive! For the love of Tom, what do you want from me?" Jocelyn sighed exasperatedly. "Do you want me to tell you I love it when he smiles at me, or when he's got my back. That I think his eyes are the most gorgeous icy blue orbs I've ever seen? How about the way I'm constantly wondering if he'd approve of my decisions? Or how about the fact he _won't get out of my fucking head_?"

"Any of those will do," a victorious Kayla grinned.

"I can't win, can I?" Jocelyn threw a helpless look at Claire, but the shrink was beaming as well.

"You've trained a worthy opponent."

"I've got to stop doing that, don't I?" Jocelyn sighed. "It doesn't matter anyway. I've made sure we never work together again."

"Because that worked so brilliantly before?"

Jocelyn grinned at Kayla. "Shut up."

"It's healthy what you two have," Claire teased.

Deeks wandered, unsuspecting of the conversation, into the kitchen. "Has anyone seen the tape gun?"

Conversation ceased as the three friends turned to Deeks.

"What?"

"Leave now," Jocelyn advised in a stage whisper.

"Jocelyn likes Callen," Kayla sang.

Rolling her eyes, Jocelyn taped up the box of cookbooks deliberately. "Do not."

"Do to!"

"Okay," Deeks spoke warily. "Next time, leave a note on the door marked 'GIRL TALK, NO BOYS ALLOWED'."

Hefting her box into one arm, Jocelyn handed Deeks the tape gun. "That would probably be a good idea."

"Need help with that?" Deeks reached for her burden.

"No, just hold the door."

* * *

Once in the walk-up landing, Jocelyn heaved a sigh of relief. "I think I rubbed off on your wife."

Deeks flashed his signature grin at his friend. Any other girl would swoon at the sight of it, but Jocelyn had bequeathed all attraction the moment she knew Kayla was interested. He was simply a good friend now, one of the few men she could hang around without feeling the need to be 'on'.

"Don't worry," he laughed. "Not all the matchmaking comes from you. Claire is quite the influence as well."

"That's the last thing I need: a shrink and a newlywed running my love life."

"How are you holding up?" he asked, sinking to sit on a box.

Jocelyn sat as well, worrying her lip between her teeth. "Honestly? Not as well as I thought."

Her companion was silent, but his eyes prodded her to continue.

"I'd assumed that once the girl was safe and the bad guys brought to justice, that I could walk away. Job well done, you know? But instead, I can't help but wondering how she's doing. Will she get the counseling she needs in WitSec? Her adult life is only just beginning and she's been torn from everything she knows. Freedom is often scarier than the familiarity of captivity. In my silly little head, I thought I would help her every step of the way, like with Kayla. But now Alina's long gone to heaven knows where and I feel helpless to help her. It must sound crazy. You've solved countless cases, saved dozens of people. Case closed, on to the next one."

"No," he contradicted softly. "I think about every victim I've ever saved. I constantly wonder if they're doing all right. Back when I was a public defender, I got to know victims-and felons-from all walks of life. Each one of them is branded into my memory."

"So how do you move on?"

"You focus on the next case. Put all your energy into saving someone new."

Jocelyn hesitated for a moment, pondering her thoughts. "That I can do. Sophie's body will be exhumed tomorrow and we'll finally have the results backing up my letter and we can finally prosecute Pryor."

"Aren't you supposed to stay away from that case? Personal vendettas can be dangerous."

"And you're one to talk, Deeks. You were so deep into Kayla's case, you were the one to shoot her dad." Jocelyn let out a refreshed sigh and looked skyward. "I never thought I'd say this, but this is one pregnancy test I'm hoping is positive."

* * *

"Negative?" The word fell from Jocelyn's mouth, and with it her hopes. Three syllables of pure disappointment.

"Negative," Rose repeated sympathetically. A gloved hand held out the report. The detective took it automatically, but was too disheartened to look.

"How is that possible? The letter said she was pregnant."

"Maybe it was a false pregnancy test."

"Sophie was not killed over a false pregnancy test," Jocelyn swore darkly, the words more denial than actual fact.

Rose opened a fresh scalpel and dug into the cadaver on her table. "If she was pregnant, how far along would she be?"

"By my estimation, she would have been about six weeks along."

"That means the fetus would be pretty small. Twelve years of decomp could have gotten rid of any DNA."

"DNA would be nice, but I just need to prove she was pregnant. Anything to give her note credence."

The medical examiner sighed. "I ran all the standard tests and didn't see anything."

"Are there any non-standard tests you can run?" Jocelyn asked, her voice piquing with hope.

"Are you trying to get me into trouble?"

"Who, me?" Jocelyn asked, her face the picture of innocence. "I'm simply asking a favor of a friend."

"So we're friends now?" the medical examiner asked incredulously.

"I did bring you coffee."

Rose brandished the now-bloody scalpel at the detective. "You know I can't. You aren't even supposed to be here! The Chief told you to stay away from this case. She told me to keep you away from this case. What are you doing here risking your job anyway?"

"I owe it to Sophie," Jocelyn replied, hugging the file to her chest. "I need to do what's right by my friend."

Rose looked up from her work sadly. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I'd lose my job."

Nodding, Jocelyn moved to the door. "I understand."

* * *

Jocelyn tried to understand, she really did.

Since she'd met Rose at Alina's boyfriend's crime scene, she'd recognized a potential friend-and ally. Whenever she was at the precinct, Jocelyn made a point to bring her coffee and chatter from the world above ground. Rose was surprisingly cheerful for a medical examiner, if a bit shy, but she had a good heart. Along with the coffee, Jocelyn kept Carlson out of the morgue. In return, Rose gave Jocelyn any and all information she needed.

Until today. The line was drawn at direct orders. She knew Rose had a strong moral compass, and pushing her would only create tension. Jocelyn would have to find another way to prove Sophie's murder. Three days had passed since the exhumation, more than enough time for Rose to find what she needed. The case would be closed for good if Jocelyn didn't move fast enough.

The autopsy report, disguised as interoffice mail, fairly burned a hole in Jocelyn's desk as she waited for the day to end. She would go home and pour over it until every word was memorized. The artist's desk used as her workstation was already scattered with too many stills from Harmon Hotel security, unofficial statements taken from staff that she'd taken personally after the murder, and countless copies from police reports. Beside Sophie's letter, this file was the first breakthrough she'd had in years. The letter was worthless without proof; one could claim Jocelyn wrote it. But a pregnancy would be impossible to refute. It was no secret Sophie was a virgin before Pryor, and she'd never cheat.

Five o'clock rolled and Jocelyn fairly bolted out the door.

Disappointment had ruled the day; Jocelyn was determined to turn that around with the file in her hand. All she needed was a glass of red wine, brie with raspberries, background music, and her desk. She planned to work through the night, if necessary, to glean whatever new information she could. Anticipation thrummed in her head. She clutched the file close enough to smell the combination of records room musk and fresh paper.

A worker dressed in coveralls and wellies bumped past her without so much as an apology, breaking Jocelyn from her reverie.

"Excuse you," she muttered. But it didn't matter. Her apartment was at the end of the hall. She stepped through the threshold and...

"What. The. Hell."

The once immaculate apartment was teeming with men busily moving her belongings about.

"Ms. Hart!" Collins, the landlord appeared behind her.

"Uhm..." Jocelyn choked on the myriad of questions fighting for a voice. "What happened?"

"A pipe burst above your apartment," Collins explained. "We weren't able to stop the leaks before it made it to your apartment."

Jocelyn's mouth formed a perfect 'O' as she took in the room with the new information. The kitchen area, lined with tile, was coated with water but would dry easily. The living and sleeping areas, on the other hand, were saturated in water.

A coverall clad worker was brushing her painstakingly arranged case files into a soggy pile.

"No, no, no!" she yelled, her uniform boots squelching on the sopping carpet. Jocelyn shoved him aside and attempted to stack them with some semblance of order. It would take hours to get it in the right sequence again.

Collins was at her side, trying to calm her down. "We've got to move your things before the water damage is too intense. Your bed will be fine, but the piano might not make it.

_Her piano_. This day was getting worse by the minute. She'd never be able to afford a new one; the baby grand was the instrument she'd learned on, bequeathed to her by her father. Jocelyn's apartment was large, but the baby grand still took up a large percentage of space. It was insured, but the sentimental value was priceless.

She sucked up the tears that threatened to fall and turned back to Collins. "So what's the plan?"

"With some restorative work, we should be able to have the place dried out by the end of the week. Whatever things we can save will be placed in the downstairs storage facilities until they can be replaced."

"So four days?"

"At the worst."

"And where will I stay?"

"We can set you up at the nearest hotel, the Harmon."

Dread spread from Jocelyn's heart to her fingertips. "No," she shook her head. "No hotels."

"We have no vacant suites for you to stay, Ms. Hart. Either use the hotel or find someplace else."

It took all of her courage to smile and nod curtly. "I'll just pack a bag, then."

It wasn't Collins's fault that the apartment flooded, but Jocelyn was having a hard time absolving him of guilt. He didn't know she avoided hotels since Sophie's death, _especially_ the Harmon Hotel. Besides, she knew Kayla had her back.

"Sweetie, I can't!" Kayla lamented as she wrapped Jocelyn in her arms outside Kayla's walk up. "There's no bed and no water after midnight."

"Can I stay at your new place?"

"No water there either. Marty, Andy, and I are staying with Claire."

"Can I stay at Claire's?" Jocelyn asked desperately. Her eyes misted; tears were inevitable.

Kayla shook her head. "We barely fit as it is."

"I understand."

Emotional exhaustion finally took its toll on Jocelyn; she collapsed to the ground, weeping.

"Sweetie…" Kayla hugged her friend.

And just when Jocelyn thought the day couldn't get any worse, the familiar sound of Callen's boots sounded on the stairs.

"Hi…" he greeted tentatively.

Jocelyn froze. Crouched on the ground beside her best friend was not the way she'd envisioned seeing the agent again.

"Hi," Kayla answered for her.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing, I'm fine." She scrambled to her feet and brushed past Callen, bolting down the stairs.

* * *

She wasn't fine. Callen didn't need to be a mind reader to know she was hurting. Despite everything, despite the kiss that filled his waking dreams, despite the not-so-little voice screaming at him to turn back, he followed.

"Hart!"

The wayward detective didn't stop. Callen picked up the pace, finally catching her arm and turning her to face him.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing," she insisted, but her red, puffy face contradicted her words.

"Hart," he repeated, his voice dangerous with warning.

Still, she resisted. "You'd think it's stupid."

"I can't know that unless you tell me, Princess."

"I've just had a bad day."

"Must have been a hell of a day." He flashed an easy grin that hit its mark. She softened her stance.

"It really was."

"Tell me," he coaxed, surprised by how much he truly wanted to know.

Jocelyn took a deep breath to still herself. "I got Sophie's test results back."

"And?" The anticipation in his eyes gave her hope he might actually care.

"Negative."

He deflated. "Oh."

"And on top of that, I got back to my apartment to find it's flooded. All of my work is completely ruined. I'll have to start from scratch. The apartment won't even be livable until Sunday and I have nowhere to stay."

"Can't you just stay with one of your boyfriends?"

It took all her strength not to bristle at his words. "I don't have any boyfriend_s_—and I don't plan on sleeping with a guy just to get a bed."

"What about a hotel?"

Jocelyn's eyes shut tight. "No hotels!" she screamed, taking Callen by surprise.

"All right, Princess," Callen held up his hands. "No hotels."

"I can't stay at either of Kayla's places, and Claire's house is full up. My last option is Dad's."

"That," the agent scoffed, "is a terrible idea. You'd be at each other's throats by sundown. Not to mention the fact that he lives two hours away from the precinct."

"It's my only option."

Callen hesitated. "Not exactly."

_No!_ his inner voice, the conscience to guard his heart, screamed at him.

"What do you mean?"

"You could…stay with me. I mean, I don't have a bed or anything, but I could lend you a bedroll."

Her tears had long stopped; she blinked at him in shock. "You want me to stay at your place? That doesn't sound like a good idea given our…history."

"Not if you promise to behave."

"Me?" Jocelyn replied innocently. "I told you I'd resist kissing you again."

"Hold to that and we'll be fine."

Her green eyes were still glassy from tears, but her face relaxed. "Truly?"

Callen placed a hand on either shoulder. "You know where I live."

"Thank you!" Jocelyn leapt into his arms without thinking. He stiffened under her touch, but patted her back congenially. "You won't regret this!"

She skipped back to her car, leaving Callen to watch her lithe body dance in the waning sunlight. "I already do."


	13. Chapter 13

Jocelyn kept her word. The evening passed quietly. She settled in an upstairs room. As per Callen's style, the room was bare, polished wooden floors gleaming in the dwindling light. It took no time at all to set up her laptop. Her host didn't have wifi, but she was able to position herself to leech an unsecured connection from the neighbors.

A knock echoed in the room. Tidying her things, she called for him to enter.

"Just wanted to offer some blankets. I'm sorry I don't have a pillow."

"That's okay," Jocelyn smiled, taking the proffered pile. "I've slept on less."

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows. "You don't really strike me as the minimalist sort."

"Don't get me wrong, I love not camping, but my friend Sophia loved it. We could get away from out parents and the paparazzi."

"I still can't believe you were famous."

Jocelyn smiled. "Yeah, Sophia and I were the perfect little tabloid sweethearts. She was always the goodie two shoes; I was the bad girl in scandalous dresses."

"On second thought, I can see that. It just seems so weird."

"I'll show you!" Jocelyn pulled up the site on her computer and scrolled to some older tabloids.

Even at 16, anyone could tell that Jocelyn was on drugs. Her eyes, caked in dramatic makeup, were red and dilated. The friend on her arm didn't seem to have succumbed to Jocelyn's level, but her heavily made over face held a distinct expression of exhaustion.

SOCIETY SWEETHEARTS JOCELYN HART AND SOPHIA HARMON TAKE HOLLYWOOD! The headline declared. Callen let out a low whistle as he scrolled through the archive. It was like the story of her teen years in pictures: late nights, hot guys, and glazed eyes.

Then it all ended.

"Wow."

"Yeah, you think I'm reckless now. This is tame."

"Fair enough," he nodded. "You hungry?"

Jocelyn was glad of the change of subject. "Sure."

"I can offer you a selection of Chinese, Thai, Italian, or pizza delivery."

"Mmm," she sighed, "I'll take Thai."

* * *

_Clink_.

Jocelyn was up, gun at the ready, before she even knew it.

_Click._

There was someone in the house.

_Cha-chunk_.

Already a light sleeper, Jocelyn was always especially jumpy when in a new place. Callen's house set her even more on edge than ever with its empty rooms.

_Who would break into this house anyway?_ Jocelyn wondered. _There's nothing here of value_.

She didn't dare call his name, for fear she'd alert the burglar to her presence, choosing to creep down the stairs as quietly as possible. The third from the top creaked; Jocelyn froze as the clinking stopped. She held her breath until it began again, then moved forward once more. A small white light flashed toward the doorway, then away.

_Click-click._

A quick breath in, slow breath out. The cool steel of her sidearm clutched in her hand set her heart racing.

One, two, three.

Jocelyn stepped through the door, gun first, in one fluid motion, but the light arced up to blind her.

"Hart?" Callen's voice broke the silence. "What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

"I heard a noise!" The gun dropped uselessly to her side. "What are _you_ doing?"

The agent's headlamp moved from her eyes to the spread before him, illuminating an arrangement of miscellaneous weapon pieces. With a final _click_, he finished the service pistol in his hand. "Practicing."

"Do you do this every night?" Jocelyn asked, settling across from him on crossed legs.

"No," Callen laughed, beginning to disassemble the same weapon. "Some nights I clean them."

"Is this the reason you don't sleep?"

The light swished back and forth as Callen shook his head. "I don't sleep, so I work with what I know. Sometimes I practice my Russian or Czech. Push-ups, pull-ups, whatever passes the time."

"That explains how you stay fit," Jocelyn laughed, fiddling with a small magazine beside her. "How many different guns do you have here?"

Callen snatched the item back from her and put it back in its place. "Five," he replied, annoyance coloring his voice. "Five here. The rest are locked away."

"This looks like a lot more than five."

"How many weapons can you assemble from parts?"

"Two," Jocelyn blushed at her perceived inadequacy. "But I am better than anyone at my sidearm."

Callen's smirk was barely visible beneath the headlamp. "Prove it."

"I will." This was her specialty, and she knew it.

A stopwatch, probably responsible for the muffled beeping she'd heard earlier, appeared in Callen's hand.

"Three, two, one, go."

_Beep_.

In desperation to prove herself at the academy, Jocelyn made it her goal to be better than everyone at a few things: run stronger, think quicker, and assemble faster. The motions were second-nature now, purely muscle memory.

_Press, slide, grip, push, turn, pull, lift, push, pull._

_Reverse._

_Beep._

"Not bad," Callen frowned in approval. "Now me."

Jocelyn took the timer. "Three, two, one."

_Beep_.

Never in a million years had Jocelyn seen anyone move so quickly with their hands. The pistol was done before she could blink.

"Not done," he called, continuing on to the next piece, then the next one, until all five weapons were assembled.

_Beep._

"Wow." The word was out before she could stop. It _was _extraordinary.

He grinned, obviously pleased he'd impressed her. Of course, he'd only just begun to spark her competitive nature.

"Let's make this interesting," she challenged. "First one through their service pistol buys tomorrow's dinner."

"And takes out the trash."

Jocelyn grinned wickedly. "Oh, I'll take out the trash."

"I hope you like steak," Callen teased. "I'm in the mood for a nice, juicy filet mignon."

"Only if you like sushi. There's this great takeout place by the docks."

"You know you're going to lose, right?"

"We'll see."

"Three, two, one…"

_Beep._

Her hands moved like lightning; his moved faster.

_Beep._

"Fuck!"

"Yes!"

"Steak it is."

* * *

Even after their competition, neither Callen nor Jocelyn slept a wink. Insomnia was nothing new for Callen, but Jocelyn could barely roll out of bed…or whatever that bundle of blankets was called. She padded down the stairs, dressed but yawning. Turning the corner toward the kitchen, she stopped short at the sight of a shirtless Callen, just climbing out of bed. Why he was sleeping in what would be the family room, she had no idea. All she knew is he was shirtless and damn good looking_._

"Oh, sorry!" she squeaked, covering her eyes.

"No, it's fine," he replied.

She opened her eyes hesitantly. He was more clothed than she had assumed, dressed solely in a pair of navy blue lounge pants. They hung from his hips and she couldn't help but drool a bit. He was fit, but not overly so, a modest six pack leading to his Apollo's belt, a well-defined arrow pointing _downward_. Forcing herself to look up, she swallowed hard. He turned away from her to pick a shirt out of his duffel and she gasped.

"_Gabe_."

His back was riddled with scars, all at varying levels of healing. But what stood out was a scattering of bullet holes, all appearing to have been inflicted at the same time.

"What?" He held the shirt in his hands.

Jocelyn stepped forward, reaching subconsciously for his back. Callen didn't flinch or even speak as she touched the sensitive scar tissue covering each wound. He shivered involuntarily under her touch.

"You really weren't lying; your torso _does _look like swiss cheese," she laughed quietly. "What happened?"

"I got shot."

The detective let out a soft laugh. "I can see that." She traced the puckered marks, drawing imaginary constellations between the scars. "One, two…five…seven. Gabe, who did this to you?"

"Someone with a grudge."

"Did you catch the guy?"

"Yeah." He turned toward her.

Time seemed to stop as she placed her hand on one wound, dangerously close to his heart. Callen wondered if she could feel his heart beating faster. Clearing his throat, he stepped back to pull the shirt on.

"Do they hurt?" she wondered aloud.

"Not really. I hardly think about them; it's just part of the job."

The picture of Callen under fire jumped unbidden to her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out. It was impossible to think how she would have reacted had she been there. Yet here he was, alive, and fairly well.

"Seven bullet holes to the chest and back is hardly 'the job'," she replied adamantly. "That's a hit. Someone was really out to get you. You could have died!"

"But I didn't." He reminded her. "I survived and we caught the guy."

Sighing shakily, Jocelyn nodded. Her eyes still reflected hesitance, but he stared back, willing her to understand. He was fine.

"Well, chicks dig scars," she commented, breaking the moment.

He shook his head. "Not these. No girl is really interested in a guy whose back looks like Quasimodo."

"Gabe, they do not look like Quasimodo. It's more like your back is a canvas. The scars are the paint. It's like an abstract piece of art."

"Well, I've never heard it like that."

"I should know," she replied authoritatively, "I've been to a lot of art openings."

They were smiling at each other. The silence jarred them from the easy conversation passing between them. Despite everything, Callen found himself inexplicably drawn to her. He was wary; the guise of friendship could only last so long under such circumstances. It was no secret that Jocelyn shared his attraction, but she didn't seem as affected. She followed his rules as best she could. On occasion, she would slip up, like when she touched his chest to trace his wounds. She knew when to walk on eggshells, which frustrated him to no end. He knew she was holding back. He appreciated her respect of his wishes, but sometimes he just wanted to scream. His presence stifled her natural _joi de vivre_, and her infectious carefree character hid behind a somber wall.

Jocelyn was affected. Every time they talked, she forced herself to tone down her suggestive nature. Those unfiltered jokes and sarcastic tones made her who she was, and checking herself before she spoke was painful. Occasionally, she found herself falling into easy conversations that would end abruptly when she realized she was getting too comfortable. It was so frustrating to stop because in those moments, he became so animated. He gave glimpses past his easygoing yet guarded exterior. It was those moments that kept her coming back.

"I've got to run," she announced. "I need to stop by the deluge for a few things."

He smiled at her reference to the soaked loft. "Oh! You'll need a key to get back in!"

Jocelyn swallowed a remark about their faux engagement and moving in. "Thanks." She hesitated. "You know, you don't have to treat me like a guest. I know you don't particularly like me. I'll come and go as needed, and I promise I won't bother you."

He held out the key. She reached for it, and his hand closed around hers. Surprised, she glanced up in an attempt to read his face.

"You're wrong."

"Sorry?"

"I do like you, and don't mind having you here."

He retracted his hand, leaving her speechless. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly as a million questions fluttered through her mind. Unable to find her voice, she turned and exited the house.


	14. Chapter 14

Whatever evil spirit had possessed Callen to invite Jocelyn Hart into his home, he had no idea. The sight of Hart in distress was more than the typically guarded agent could bear. And now she would be in his house for three whole days. When he took her in, Callen convinced himself he could take her presence. After all, he'd survived a fake engagement, if barely.

Their wager the previous night endangered that stipulation. It was refreshing-and confusing-to see her outside her role of police detective. As long as he reminded himself she was a cop, Callen could keep whatever impulses toward her in check. The sight of her in pajamas, eyes sultry with sleepiness, hair mussed and begging for his hands to comb through it, was another story.

She'd handled her weapon with practiced precision. The familiar metallic clicks kept his mind from wandering too much. He focused on winning. He did, of course, but she was a surprisingly adept student. That, he suspected, was the reason she'd survived on the force as long as she had.

The morning, on the other hand, was a rude awakening. He shouldn't have walked around shirtless or let her see the scars scattered across his torso. Then she'd reached out slim, soft fingers, and traced those jagged edges as if he was a masterpiece sculpture whose contours she studied. The thought of this sent involuntary shivers down his spine; he could still feel the paths her fingers had followed across his skin.

Callen mentally shook his head and steeled himself for three more days of the divine torture of Jocelyn Hart's presence.

"G, you okay?" Sam asked.

Callen schooled his face into a detached expression. "Yeah, why?"

"You seem distracted. Anything to do with your most recent near-death experience?"

"Nope, I'm good."

He was saved from further questioning when Deeks walked in.

"Lady and gentlemen," Deeks announced, "you are all invited over for a housewarming party!"

Kensi sat forward at her desk. "I'll be there as long as you aren't the one cooking."

"No need to worry on that account, Kens; Kayla's doing the cooking."

Kayla was an exceptional cook; the whole OSP knew it, waiting on the days she sent test recipes to work with her husband. Her "sammiches" were also legend, but she had yet to share the secret-and Deeks had yet to share the sammich.

"Then I'm there," Kensi confirmed.

"Good!" Deeks exclaimed. "You guys have been so great, helping with the move and all, she wanted to thank you."

"She should be thankful," Callen teased. "We don't want you straining your back too early in the marriage."

Deeks rounded on him. "Says the man who nearly dropped the oven down the stairs."

"If you'd been holding your side properly, that wouldn't have been a problem."

"I'll have to talk to Quinn," Sam interrupted the banter. Quinn, Sam's wife and former partner at the CIA, was a fiercely private woman-and probably the reason Callen hadn't known about Sam's kids for a large part of their NCIS partnership.

The team turned to look at Callen. "So?" Deeks prodded.

"What?"

"Will you come?"

There was no escape from the question. Callen liked Deeks, even enough to help him move, but he usually drew the line at house parties. The idea was a bit too white picket fence for him. "I don't know."

"He'll be there," Sam declared.

"Excuse me?"

"G, we all know you do nothing on Thanksgiving but rearrange your armory."

Callen couldn't contradict him-because it was true.

* * *

With the negative pregnancy test, Jocelyn was desperate to find any evidence against Pryor. She awoke the next morning determined to visit Jackson Pryor's wife before work.

Jocelyn took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. A little misuse of government property had informed her that the man of the house was away on business, creating the perfect opportunity to talk with Mrs. Pryor. There was little doubt in Jocelyn's mind that Jackson's wife was as mistreated as Sophie was; she just had to prove it.

At the last second, Jocelyn had decided to leave her badge at home. Victims of abuse often shied away from law enforcement, and the last thing Jocelyn wanted to do was scare her off. Instead, she'd dressed in slim-cut pants and a simple top, lending herself the ambiguous look of a middle-class professional on her day off.

Aside from the goal of gaining an audience with Mrs. Pryor, Jocelyn was without a plan. She had no idea how far she'd get in the first place, and even if she could get through, the wife might throw her out. Squaring her shoulders, she rang the bell.

An elderly woman, most likely the housekeeper, answered the door.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes!" Jocelyn smiled politely, "Is Mr. Jackson Pryor in?"

"May I ask who is calling?"

"Camille Bowers," Jocelyn pulled the name out of thin air, "from the homeowners' association. I just have some zoning questions regarding the gardens."

"Well," she replied shortly, "Mr. Pryor is not in at the moment."

Jocelyn was well aware of the fact, choosing to ease into her true purpose. "Then may I speak to Mrs. Pryor?"

The housekeeper raised a brow at her, giving Jocelyn the impression that Mrs. Pryor didn't receive too many visitors.

"Mr. Pryor handles all matters of the house."

"But as lady of the house, I'm sure Mrs. Pryor can answer my questions," Jocelyn persisted.

She hesitated before opening the door. "I'll check if Mrs. Pryor is available for visitors."

"Thank you," Jocelyn offered a winning smile and stepped into the foyer.

"Wait here, please."

The detective heaved a sigh of relief as the housekeeper scuttled off to find Mrs. Pryor. The elderly woman was formidable, but Jocelyn couldn"t tell if she played the role of jail keeper or protector. Only time would tell.

The hallway was immense, decorated in stark black and white with floor-to-ceiling marble. A wide staircase curved upward to the second floor where a slim woman now descended.

Jocelyn's breath caught in her throat at the sight, for the lady was the spitting image of Sophie. She was taller and thinner, but the blonde hair and blue eyes were unmistakable. Did she know she was a copy? Did she know she was just one in a long line of blondes used to decorate Jackson's arm?

She was elegant in every sense of the word, from her impeccable posture to her perfect hair-and yet there was something off about her. The blue eyes looked weary, heavily concealed bags beneath each. Jocelyn wondered if the purple coloring was from lack of sleep or something even more painful. Her thin mouth held a determined line, as if holding on to the remnants of her dignity. Every feature was a warning sign she'd missed with Sophie. Jocelyn was now positive the woman was abused, and the detective vowed it would not go unpunished.

"Mrs. Pryor, I presume," Jocelyn greeted, pushing aside her grim thoughts.

"Please, call me Anne," she replied with practiced poise. "Evelyn mentioned you had some questions about the gardens?"

"Is there someplace private we can talk?"

"Of course."

Anne led her to a sun room at the back of the house. It was cheerier than the rest of the mansion, the colorful flowers a sharp contrast to the rest of the dismal decor. The shadows on Anne's face were filled with sunlight; she looked younger here.

"Now, Ms. Bowers, how can I help you?"

Jocelyn took a deep breath. "I have a confession to make."

"Oh?"

"My name isn't Camille Bowers; it's Jocelyn Hart, and I'm not from the homeowners' association."

Anne's eyes went frantic, but Jocelyn continued before she could protest.

"I'm sorry to deceive you, but I had to speak with you."

"Whatever for?"

"I know your secret."

"What secret?" Anne looked genuinely confused; Jocelyn wondered if she'd made a mistake.

Nevertheless, she pressed on. "I know what Jackson does to you."

"What does he do to me?"

"I know he beats you around, makes you feel worthless, and treats you terribly."

Anne searched for any trace of familiarity to explain Jocelyn's bluntness. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

No denial, that was good. "No, but I knew a girl like you."

"I don't understand."

Jocelyn cursed inwardly. Of course she didn't. "I had a friend, growing up. She was the sweetest, most unaffected girl in school until she met this one boy. At first, he treated her like gold. He showered her with gifts and compliments, whisking her away to Paris and New York or Hawaii. But he could never get her into bed. So he told her to prove her love...and after months of denying him, she gave in. He didn't even use protection, and she got pregnant. Then the abuse started. He became a monster. He told her that if she loved him, she'd get rid of the baby."

"I'm sorry for your friend," Anne began, "but I don't see what this has to do with me."

"But it does." Jocelyn inched closer. "That man was Jackson Pryor."

The bombshell visibly affected Anne, but the emotion was gone as quickly as it registered. Only years of experience with Sophie and Kayla allowed her to read the micro expression.

"That's not possible," Anne replied finally.

"I know that it's hard to believe, but it's the truth. Jackson and I were in high school together. I know him well."

At that moment, a small blonde girl bounded into the sunroom. "Mama!" she squealed, leaping into her mother's lap. "Dolly lost her shoe!"

Anne turned to the little girl who looked no more than five years old. "Is that so? Here; let me help." The mother patiently slid the shoe onto the doll's foot and buttoned the strap. "There. Good as new."

An exasperated-looking woman Jocelyn deduced to be the nanny came blustering in. "Now, Miss Sophie, what have I told you about interrupting your mother?"

Sophie? Jocelyn nearly choked. He wouldn't be so bold.

"That's all right, Clarice," Anne smiled at the nanny then back at her daughter. "A missing shoe is no small thing. How would Dolly walk to school without it?"

Still, the nanny gathered up the child and exited the room quickly.

Jocelyn turned to Anne, undisguised horror on the detective's face.

"Anne," she asked slowly, "who chose Sophie's name?"

"Jackson. He was quite insistent, and I thought it was such a beautiful name. Sophie Harmony."  
It took all of Jocelyn's composure not to vomit.

"As I was saying," Anne continued, "that's impossible because Jackson allowed me to keep the child. He even married me for it."

"Did he ask you to abort?"

Anne took a moment to respond. "Yes, but when he saw I was determined..."

"How could you do it?" Jocelyn was done being nice. The pain was unfathomable. "How could you marry him knowing what he was—is—capable of? Why would you marry a monster?"

"Because I loved him!" she exclaimed. "And I'll ask you not to insult my husband in his own house. In fact, I'd like you to leave now."

Jocelyn knew when she'd been beaten. "Fine." She raised her hands in parley. "But please, just read this letter."

Even as she reached into her pocket, she wished she didn't have to do this. The letter was too personal for anyone but Jocelyn. It was also evidence, but even Sophie agree it was for a good cause.

"My friend, Sophie, wrote this before she killed herself and her baby. I'll leave you alone, but please, just read it. There's a photo inside, and I'll leave my name and number in case you do want my help."

Anne stood to receive the letter, squeezing Jocelyn's hands in the process.

"I'm sorry about your friend, truly."

"Thank you." Jocelyn bequeathed the letter and found her way out.

* * *

The smell of scotch assaulted Callen's senses as he entered the house. He paused long enough to hear the clink of ice against a crystal tumbler.

"Another bad day, Hart?" he called.

A hollow laugh echoed from the kitchen. "They seem to be common as of late, don't they?"

He rounded the corner to see Jocelyn in all her scotch-swilling glory. "You do enjoy trends."  
She was dressed in leggings and a loose-fitting sweater; the same one she'd worn to give him the peace offering. That grey top, innocently slipping off one shoulder and ending just below the curve of her bottom, held a special place in his heart.

He watched as she pulled out another glass. The crystal wasn't from Callen's own collection; Hart had likely retrieved them from her collection…along with the scotch.

The amber liquid swirled as she poured it into the glass. Three perfect cubes of ice plinked into the glass and she handed it to him. In one sip, Callen remembered just how much he loved scotch.

"Macallan, 25 year single malt," she elaborated. "Cure for the worst of bad days."

"Oh, I am familiar with it. Hetty keeps a few bottles around."

"Hmm," Jocelyn took another sip. "I knew I liked her."

"Yeah, she's pretty great." Callen pulled himself up to sit on the island. "So what made today a bad one?"

"I visited Anne Pryor."

The agent nearly choked on his liquor. "You what?"

"I visited Pryor's wife."

"Oh, I heard you. Hart, I knew you were crazy, but that's suicide."

"It's not like he was home," Jocelyn offered the weak justification.

"You don't think he'll find out?"

"Anne won't say anything."

A wistful look glazed over her face.

"What?" he prodded.

Jocelyn swallowed. "Anne has a kid."

"That's not so uncommon," Callen allowed. "Married people are allowed to have kids."

"Named Sophie?" Jocelyn cut him off with an exasperated gasp. "What sick bastard names their child after the woman they as good as murdered? What is it with these people anyway? Pryor Is clearly an abusive psychopath. His wife is the spitting image of the original Sophie."

Callen knew better than to speak. Jocelyn was headed toward a very long rant and the agent knew better than to get in the middle of it. It became very clear after their time together that the detective was a verbal processor. At first, the chatter had irked him, but time, or madness, had endeared the oft-beleaguered detective to him.

"Why won't anyone take this seriously? It's so obvious."

"Do you want help, or do you just want to talk?"

She grinned appreciatively at him over her tumbler. "You may speak."

"You need to break it down. What proof of the crime do you have?"

"I have a letter from Sophie dated the night she died."

"So, a suicide note."

Jocelyn sighed in annoyance. "It is not a suicide note."

"What did it say?"

The handwritten note, written on Sophie's personal stationery, was forever emblazoned on her memory. "That she couldn't live with herself if she had to give birth to Pryor's kid."

"So, a suicide note."

"NOT a suicide note!" She threw her hands up. "Fuck, I know it seems crazy, but have you ever felt something in your gut so strongly that it is fact to you? Did anyone listen to you, but you knew in your heart what truly happened? Did you let it go? Would you let it go?"

"Yeah, I think you're crazy."

Jocelyn's face shot up to look at his, eyes rimmed with murder.  
"But you're a special brand of crazy—one that I understand even more than you know."

"What?"

"I believe you, but as long as you pursue this headlong without any regard for the rules or your coworkers, no one will take you seriously. Look at you!" he laughed. "Your appearance alone sets you at a disadvantage."

"How so?"

He leaned toward her. "When I saw you for the first time, I thought you weren't human. I mean, no one on the force looks like you. Your hair—" he reached out to touch a strand. "I've never seen hair like yours except in Disney movies."

Red blush crept up Jocelyn's neck to color her pale cheeks. She'd been told before she was gorgeous, but Gabriel Callen rarely gave out compliments. He was analyzing her...and she'd never felt more beautiful.

"Seriously!" he confirmed. "Then, when I saw you again, I was so determined to hate you. But even when you were trying to seduce me, I was a hair's breadth from taking you up on your offer."

Jocelyn's face threatened to turn into a tomato.

"Why do you think I call you Princess?"

"Because I'm a rich, selfish, spoiled brat?"

"Well, yes," the agent acknowledged, "but also because you look like one. You should live in dresses like the one you wore that night at the gala. You were born to wear them."

"But that look isn't helping me. No one will look at me twice."

"You can fool them," Callen suggested. "Fool them into believing you fit the mold. You're smart, I've seen it. It's just like going undercover. Every time I'm given a new alias, I strip away everything that I am and put on a different identity. If I were to ask a terrorist where he keeps his bomb as Special Agent G. Callen, he'd lie. But if I were to go undercover as a recruit, he would tell me where it is, strap it to my chest, and send me on my way. Sometimes you have to become who other people need you to be. Adapt."

"Adapt," she repeated, taking another sip of scotch. "I can do that."

"Here's what I don't understand." Callen readjusted himself to a safe distance away from her. "Why do you feel the need to do this yourself? Do you need to prove yourself that badly?"

"This was never about me."

"Then who? Because you spent a lot of time justifying your presence on the force. You'd be so much happier doing something else."

"It's about Sophia."

"Are you sure Sophia isn't just a pretense? I know better than to believe a suicidal girl would spur you on to such drastic lengths."

"It's the truth," Jocelyn sighed. "I was so wrapped up in my parents' divorce that I didn't see the signs. Trust me, if it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be here."

"Where would you be?"

"I-" It was a simple question, but Jocelyn was stumped. She chose to dodge the question. "Well I wouldn't be standing here talking to an inquisitive asshole."

"Think about it," he prodded.

"I don't know," she admitted. "What I do know is I can't rest until I've paid my atonement. Pryor needs to come to justice."

"What then? Will you go on saving the world from every abusive relationship? Because that sure as hell isn't going to happen." He made sure to catch her attention before dropping his voice to a whisper. "You can't save everyone, Hart."

"I can try."

Despite her stubbornness, all Callen wanted to do was wrap her up in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. That he would handle it and no one would ever hurt her or her friends again. Instead he stood, fists balled to suppress the impulse to take her hand.

"When you figure it out, let me know."


	15. Chapter 15

'Cut it off, Eve.'

The hairdresser, Jocelyn's loyal stylist and friend from the society days, blanched. 'Are you sure?'

Swallowing down her tears, she nodded.

Eve raised the scissors, as scary as an guillotine, but pulled back at the last minute.

'I can't do it! Your hair's too pretty! You worked too long to chop it all off!'

She hated to admit it, but Jocelyn felt the same way. It was silly, her attachment to the waist length locks, but they were her last connection to her former life as a socialite. She'd separated herself from her father, her so-called friends, even the clothes to a point, but her hair was something she couldn't part with.

Jocelyn sighed at her reflection, so different from the seventeen year old she'd been when she left. The roundness in her cheeks had molded into sharp cheekbones below a strong brow. She was no longer the sweet, spoiled brat. Suddenly, the dark tresses felt like heavy chains holding her back, restraining her from moving forward with her life.

Seizing the scissors from a very surprised Eve, she pulled her ponytail taut and cut. The slice didn't make it through the entire ponytail; Jocelyn's hair was much too thick, but the damage was still irreparable. Tears welled in her eyes; the pain was as acute as if she'd cut her own skin, but she only blinked them back and gave the weapon back to the hairdresser.

"You've done it now," Eve chided with a smile.

The mood lightened instantly, and Jocelyn wiped the tears away roughly. "So, what should we do from here?"

"I suggest we lighten the hair a bit, add a few highlights…what do you say to chocolate brown?"

Feigning up a smile, Jocelyn nodded. "Sound perfect."

From then on, the appointment was purely business. Jocelyn did everything she could to keep her mind from wandering. Her thoughts tended toward the captain's earlier remarks, but she turned them aside.

They led her down a surprising path…toward the enigmatic and elusive G. Callen. The image of his face brought an unbidden smile to hers.

Why she would dwell on a man like him was beyond her. He'd clearly stated he had no desire to further his relationship with her beyond the office. Yet he was stuck in her mind like an action figure in super glue. Of everyone in her acquaintance, including Kayla, he'd spoken the most sense to her situation.

He was the only one who'd seen both sides of her lifestyle. Which side of her life was the lie: the police detective or the high-bred socialite? Both were extremes, and both were lies. Only Callen had seen right through her as if masquerade was thin as a veil.

Her personality was no lie. She was bubbly at heart, and liked to speak her mind. Neither of her careers allowed her to do so. Ass kissing was no fun, though she enjoyed playing the coy beauty. Detective work required her to be hard as nails. A stubborn sort, she hated the stringent rules and line of command. If only she could work for herself! Her mother had trained her to be meticulous and her father had trained her in business. She was good at it, too. Evan was never so skilled, but he would much rather follow in his father's footsteps.

"There!" Eve woke Jocelyn from her reverie. "What do you think?"

Her once deep, dark hair was now shorn to the shoulders and rich brown, as Eve had promised. Free of the weight, her natural waves sprang free. Auburn strips threaded through the locks, adding dimension and lightening her face. If it hadn't been so drastic a change, she might have admitted to liking it. As it was, she burst into tears.

"Sweetie!" Eve exclaimed, her southern accent hung on the syllables. "Is it so bad?"

"No!" Jocelyn had to work hard to quell Eve's distress. "I think I can get used to it."

"You look beautiful, sweetie, you always do."

"I know," Jocelyn forced a smile. "It's just so different."

* * *

_Different_.

That was exactly how Jocelyn felt as she drove back to Callen's suburban dwelling. Would people look at her differently when she walked into the precinct tomorrow? Would they respect her now that she looked more...common? Every few seconds, she tugged on the loose waves self-consciously. It was as if she'd lost ten pounds, her head was so light.

Mercifully, Callen wasn't at home. Jocelyn needed a good fifteen minutes of staring into the mirror before she could face anyone. She smiled, wondering where the agent was saving the world today.

Without him, the house was an empty shell. The sun set, casting shadows on the blank walls. Jocelyn imagined the ghosts of Callen's childhood scampering from room to room. Was he a then, leading a band of laughing miscreants into battle? Or was he a loner, focused on keeping his head down? She couldn't picture him as any sort of follower.

What had he looked like? Her mind conjured images of childish blue eyes, thick blonde hair, and athletic build. The signature lopsided grin likely came easier back then, flashing a fine set of pearly white teeth. He'd call to the other boys and they would chase him.

Jocelyn ran a hand through her hair, reminding herself once again of the trauma it she'd forced on it. Adapt, he'd said. Her entire time on the force, she'd resisted changing herself for the job. It felt like betrayal of everything she stood for, but after the harsh years and disappointments, Jocelyn wasn't quite sure who she was anymore.

_Focus on the task at hand,_ she reminded herself. Help Sophie and sort the rest out later.

The door below slammed shut and Jocelyn bounded down the stairs to greet her host. "Notice anything different about me?"

He squinted, looking her up and down. "Did you get a new shirt?"

Twelve inches of hair gone, they both knew he'd noticed.

"Wow, Hart. That wasn't quite what I had in mind."

Needless to say, that was not the reaction Jocelyn expected. "You told me I needed to adapt to fit in. I adapted." She tossed her head for emphasis. "I look more common now, right?"

Callen could only nod. He knew that Jocelyn Hart could change her clothes and chop her hair and no one would ever think she was common, but her face all but begged for his stamp of approval.

"It will take more than a haircut," he said slowly.

"I know, but it's the first thing I could think of."

"Do you like it?"

The detective's face fell. "It will take some getting used to, but it is just hair. I even donated it to charity."

"Of course you would," he laughed. "Charity seems to run in the family."

"That was part of the reason my hair was so long," Jocelyn admitted. "It needed to be for all the elaborate hairstyles at the galas."

They shared a smile.

"Why are you helping me?" Jocelyn asked suddenly.

Callen thought for a moment. "You're interesting."

"I'm interesting?" she countered. "You're practically shrouded in mystery."

He shot her a knee-melting grin. "It's part of my rugged charm."

"You don't get off that easily," she smirked right back. "Is your life classified or something? Secret? Top secret?"

"Do you have the Need To Know?" he answered with a question of his own.

"I'd like to think so; I am your friend after all."

"I never asked you to be," he contradicted playfully. "Is this what you do with your friends? Pronounce yourself their companion then expect them to bend to your will?"

He hadn't meant to sound so callous, but one look in Jocelyn's hardened eyes and he knew he'd hit the nail on the head. But this was a facet of Jocelyn Hart that he was the most curious to understand. He dared to take it a step further. "I know Kayla was happy for you to coach her, but I refuse to be your next project."

That did it. Jocelyn's spine snapped straight as she blinked rapidly, willing herself not to show pain. Her gut twisted; she felt sick but refused to back down.

"There would need to be a person in there for me to work on! All I see is an empty shell of a man. Give him a story, slap on an alias, and you're good to go. It's what makes you so eerily good at your job. You're so good at being who they tell you to be because you don't know who you are in the first place."

The words hit Callen like a punch to the chest; air whooshed out of his lungs as his mind went reeling. He should have known he was playing with fire.

"I know who I am," he countered. "It's my past I don't know."

But she'd landed a hit. Callen could see her take a stance for the killer blow. "You know that mystery man you're chasing in those dreams? I bet you a million to one that guy in the hoodie is you. You're chasing yourself, night after night, but you'll never catch him if you continue living in denial. What does the past matter? You have friends who love you-and I'm not talking about me. You have a life worth living and so much more, but you insist on remaining ignorant."

"What if I like my life the way it is?"

Jocelyn hitched her purse onto her shoulder. "Then you're lying to yourself."

With that, she stalked out of the room, leaving Callen slack jawed and speechless.

* * *

Night fell, dark and starless. Jocelyn did her best to avoid her host, but collision was inevitable. He found her washing dishes. They were hers, of course. His cabinets held a cornucopia of plasticware and paperware, but she'd managed to sneak her own into the mix. Head bent over her work, she didn't notice Callen watching from the threshold. As she scrubbed, a piece of hair fell into her face. A soapy hand lifted it away with a sigh.

"It looks nice, by the way," he commented.

Jocelyn's head jerked up, caught unawares. "What?"

"Your hair. It looks good."

"Oh," she blushed, turning back to the dish in her hand. "I'm sorry about earlier, by the way."

"Rule number six," Callen recited. "Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness."

"Rules to live by?" Jocelyn chuckled.

"Advice from an old friend."

"How many rules are there?"

Callen thought for a moment. "I lost count."

The detective reached for a dishrag-another piece of her apartment that made its way into his home-and rubbed a plate dry.

"Did I ever tell you how I ended up in NCIS?" he asked.

Plate forgotten, Jocelyn leaned against the counter. "No."

Callen braced his hands on the other side of the island. "I was recruited straight from high school."

Jocelyn did her best not to let her jaw drop.

"I fit a profile, they said. Orphan with no personal ties to anyone or anywhere-it made perfect sense."

"And you've been working for NCIS since high school?" Jocelyn wondered aloud.

"Not NCIS," Callen clarified. "It was the CIA, then. Then the FBI, then DEA, and finally, NCIS."

"Huh. I was of the impression Hetty brought you up for NCIS."

"Not exactly." He smiled, remembering. "Apparently she had an eye on me for a while-she's the reason I lived out my childhood in foster homes instead of orphanages."

"I guess one's better than the other."

"Infinitely," he confirmed with a nod. "I got to feel at home, if only for a few months at a time.

his house was by far my favorite."

Jocelyn hopped up onto the counter opposite him. "Why'd you leave the CIA?"

"I was looking for answers."

The detective cocked her head like a child at story time. "Answers?"

Everyone he saw on a daily basis knew the tale; words were never necessary. Jocelyn came to him with little to no knowledge of his past, save what he'd already told her. If he told her, would she understand?

Expectant eyes urged him on.

"When the CIA recruited me, I knew I could use their resources to find out about my parents. During my time there, I found out my mom worked for the CIA, but not much else. Almost all of her work was redacted; there wasn't much information to glean. When it served its full potential, I moved on, using each job until they couldn't get me any further. Then Hetty popped up out of nowhere and pulled me into NCIS. Out of everyone I'd met, she seemed to know the most. She was also the most adept at keeping secrets, but it didn't matter by then."

"Why?"

"Because I'd found my family. Don't get me wrong; I'm still tracking down any lead that has to do with my past, but my priorities got a bit flip-flopped."

"Justice for Sophie is still the most important thing in my life. I've done some stupid stuff on that path, but the stupidest, by far, is my hair. Not because it was actually a stupid move. It's stupid because of how much it hurt."

Callen looked at her quizzically, trying to understand.

"I hate my hair!" she lamented, grappling at the missing tresses that typically draped across her shoulder. Her hands met thin air. "It's idiotic, but it's true. It feel like I just lopped off my security blanket."

"You're right." Callen moved to sit beside her. "It seems strange to me, but that doesn't make it stupid."

Jocelyn leaned her head back, breathing deeply. "I'm going to have to make it through tomorrow like this."

"I tell you what," Callen proposed, "If you make it through tomorrow, I'll take you to one of my favorite breakfast spots on Saturday."

"Breakfast?"

"Trust me. If there's anything I learned working long-term cases, sometimes you need to give yourself a day off. You need a little vacation from your head. Okay?"

"Okay."

They were too close. Callen had forgotten how powerful the draw of such proximity to Jocelyn. He slid away slightly.

"You're right, by the way," he remarked after a moment. "I am a bit of a shell character, and that does make me good at my job. But don't think for a second I don't have a personality or motivations to my actions."

"I didn't mean it," Jocelyn apologized. "I-"

"Rule six," he cut her off. "For a self-described screw up, you certainly are perceptive."


	16. Chapter 16

_Don't forget to slouch,_ Jocelyn reminded herself as she neared the precinct. _Head high, chin up, but don't forget to slouch._

Years of poise lessons from her mother played in her head and Jocelyn suppressed them all. Back in the day, she had the power to command every gaze in the room with a single step across the threshold. Those days were long gone, but her mother's lessons were ground into her so deeply; Jocelyn had to focus on NOT walking like a debutante.

_Adapt_, Callen's voice whispered in her ear_. Fool them into thinking you fit._

_I do fit,_ Jocelyn mentally replied. _Watch me._

* * *

Back at the OSP, Callen contemplated the boundaries his rules set for him. On any given day, he had a strict no-interference policy with his coworkers. Only help when asked, that was his philosophy. As he got to know Jocelyn better, he realized she wasn't the sort to just ask for help. Neither was he, Callen knew, and he feared for her the way his team feared for him in similar situations.

Hart wasn't one to ask for assistance. Callen assumed it was because Hart thought it would make her look weak. All she wanted was to prove herself. Many agents had crossed Callen's path with the same philosophy. Help equals weakness. Struggles equal strength. The problem was that all those agents were dead.

_Should I help? _he wondered. His team would do the same for him in a heartbeat and, though he resented it like a child told not to touch the flames, he always thanked them later. The computer loomed in front of him, reminding him he'd already pried into her past once. Could once more truly hurt?

"Hey, Deeks!" Callen called across the workspace. "Did Hart ever mention a girl named Sophie?"

The detective paused to think for a moment. "I think Kaye mentioned her at one point. Something about suicide when Hart was younger. Don't know much else. Why?"

Callen schooled his features into a look of indifference and slouched in his chair. "No reason."

He sincerely hoped Deeks would let the conversation drop.

No such luck; the detective jumped at the topic like a golden retriever goes after bacon.

"You two seem particularly close as of late."

"Fuck off."

Kensi joined in, playing off her partner. "The celebutante and the secret agent. Sounds like something out of a harlequin romance."

"You would know, Kens," Callen chided. "You're the one reading that trash."

Kensi shot him a glare, that told him those books were the _last _thing she'd read.

"And the resistance!" Kensi raised an eyebrow in the agent's direction. "Exactly something the hero of the novel would show."

"I'm not doing this, Kens."

"Methinks he dost protest too much," Sam crossed his arms and peered at his partner.

Callen shot Sam a look of betrayal.

"You know," Deeks added, "as Joce's friend, I'm required to kill you should you harm her in any way."

Sam stood to face Deeks. "And I'm required to kill you for killing my partner."

"I simply asked for professional reasons!" Callen insisted.

Deeks scoffed. "I find that very hard to believe."

"What professional reasons?" Kensi was curious.

_Good. They were off teasing him about Hart._

"Remember the Kirsonov case? The gala?"

"How could I forget?" Deeks answered. "You made me dress as a waiter for the millionth time."

"At least you got a piece of the action," Kensi complained, "I was stuck in the van all night."

"You know Jackson Pryor, the guy who accosted Hart on the terrace?"

Deeks ground his teeth. "I remember."

"Hart thinks he's responsible for Sophie's death."

On Callen's left, Sam let out a low whistle. "After seeing him assault Hart, I'll believe anything. That guy is a grade A asshole."

"No contest," Deeks agreed. "Why are you so interested in him?"

"I need to know if there's anything to it. Hart's been poking around and she'll get in trouble if anyone is on to her."

"And you want to help?" Kensi replied skeptically.

"Not a good idea," the detective chimed in. "She'll kill you if she finds out you even talked to us about this."

Callen stood. "I know, but she's going to get herself suspended, arrested, or even killed if she continues down this road."

"How do you know?" Deeks countered. "She's proved herself numerous times."

"I know because I've been there. I know how dark it is for her right now and if no one helps her out, she's going to get lost down there."

"We could help," Hetty interrupted.

The team turned to look at their boss. Small but deadly, Hetty still managed to sneak up on them when they least expected it.

"Theoretically, Mr. Pryor's indiscretion may have triggered an NCIS investigation. Theoretically, that brought to light the suspicions of murder twelve years ago. That is, if Ms. Hart is willing to cooperate."

"No," Callen objected vehemently. "She can't know."

"Uh, uh," Deeks squeaked.

Everyone stared at the blonde detective.

"Have you ever tried lying to Hart? It's terrifying!"

Callen raised a brow. "Would you rather her know we're taking over her case?"

Deeks's eyes bugged out at the thought. "On the other hand, I'm good with keeping this from her."

"I'm not saying it's ideal," Callen spoke to the group. "We all know how important this case is to her personally. But it's better for us to handle it than strangers who don't know where she's coming from."

"Voice of reason here," Kensi raised her hand. "What if we discover Sophie's death wasn't a suicide? What if it really was a cut-and-dry suicide?"

"Then we run for cover," Deeks replied grimly. "And pray Hart doesn't blame us for fucking it up."

* * *

Mercifully, the shocked staring had waned down to a few awkward glances whenever anyone passed her desk. The ramrod she had up her back relaxed, allowing Jocelyn to relax into her chair when not under observation. Carlson barely noticed. Jocelyn supposed that, in his eyes, a female cop with short hair was just as useless as one with long hair.

_Misogynistic bastard._

He dropped a fresh pile of case files on her desk. It was no secret he'd been ordered to keep her out of trouble while Sophie's body remained in the building. Jocelyn almost welcomed the distraction; morbid as it was, Sophie's body kept pulling her down to the morgue.

"Hart!"

Jocelyn leapt to attention at the Chief's beckoning, nearly knocking the stack of papers to the ground.

"Sir?"

"Get in here!"

Obediently, Jocelyn followed her superior into the office. _What did I do now?_

"Hart, I'm going to ask you a question, and I need a straight answer from you."

The Chief's tone was laced with warning and edged with caution. Jocelyn stood at attention, trepidation pounding in her chest. Did the Chief know she'd visited Anne Pryor? A silent prayer made its way heavenward.

"Did you order another round of tests on Sophie Harmon's body?"

The sigh of relief was replaced by confusion. "Of course not. You told me to stay away."

"And you have?"

"Have what?"

"Stayed away." The Chief's voice held no desire to play games.

"Sir, I haven't been to see Sophie and I certainly haven't ordered any tests."

_I did request them,_ Hart remembered, exhilaration flooding to her fingers. Had Rose gone forward with her request for a more thorough investigation? She needed to speak to her straightaway. Even as her mind went into overdrive, the Chief relaxed.

"Good. I wondered if the haircut had anything to do with the sudden request for extra tests."

"No, sir," Jocelyn smiled easily. "I just figured it was about time I started thinking practically. Waist-length hair is rarely practical."

Hart's words earned a slight smile—an actual _smile_—from her superior. "I'm glad to hear it. You've applied yourself more in the past few weeks and I received a glowing report from NCIS regarding your work with them. Cooperation like that is key to success around here."

"Yes, sir."

"What I don't understand is your systematic avoidance of any NCIS related cases since. After such success on a high profile case, I assumed you'd like to work with them again."

Jocelyn cleared her throat, searching for the right answer. She couldn't just say that she fell for her partner and he never wanted to work with her again. What little credibility she'd found would be stripped away and ground into the dirt along with her attempt at equality. Everyone knew falling for your partner was the cardinal sin of law enforcement.

"I prefer to work with my own kind, Sir."

The Chief laughed. "I call bullshit, Hart."

She'd have to be more convincing. "The truth of it is, I'm already despised around here. An association with NCIS, prestigious as it may be, makes me look like a traitor to the LAPD."

Chief frowned slightly, weighing Jocelyn's words. "And if they request you?"

"I wouldn't disobey a direct order from my commanding officer," Jocelyn replied innocently. Never mind the fact she'd already disobeyed countless ordinances. "If NCIS requests my assistance, and you require it, then I will do as I'm told."

"Good." The Chief relaxed enough to sit in her chair. Jocelyn shifted her weight, waiting to be dismissed. "Hart?"

"Sir?"

"I like the hair."

Jocelyn broke into a genuine smile. "Thank you."

Her superior waved her away.

One battle won, she thought as she exited the office. The fresh mystery took over her consciousness as she wondered: who ordered the tests on Sophie?


	17. Chapter 17

It was getting later in the morning; nearly eight o'clock. Callen glanced down at his watch and back up the stairs to his guest's room.

"Hart?" He knocked, gently at first. How he should feel timid in his own home was beyond understanding.

No answer came, so he knocked louder. "Jocelyn?"

So rarely had he spoken the name, it sounded foreign on his tongue. He could speak many languages, but that name was so unknown to him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd decided the moment they moved past surnames, they were too intimate. The fact that Jocelyn called him 'Gabe' was already too personal. Shuddering, he switched tactics.

"Up and at 'em, Princess!"

The bleary-eyed detective opened the door. Tousled raven hair, freed from its impractical length, fell tangled across her face in a way that made Callen want to smooth it back for her. She was dressed in lounge pants and a tank top; the agent lost the battle to check whether or not she was wearing a bra.

She wasn't.

"You get up far too early for your day off, Gabe."

So disarmed by her appearance, Callen was speechless.

Before Jocelyn, Callen wondered why women wore makeup. To be sure, it was useful during operations to disguise certain traits-or add them. He, Kensi, and Sam all had sported false tattoos from time to time. Kensi, already gorgeous, underwent dramatic transformations from one day to the next though she was always most comfortable in jeans and well-worn tee-not dissimilar to Callen himself. But even Kensi wore minimal makeup on normal days.

_Why_? He'd asked himself. He wasn't judging her. She was basically one of the guys.

Then, under the moonlight, Callen laid eyes on Jocelyn. She was wearing a full face of makeup and he was floored in that moment. He was convinced there was no one more beautiful. She'd worn even more (if possible) at the gala and still looked exceptional. It wasn't until he saw her fresh-faced that he realized the true reason. Jocelyn wore makeup as a mercy to the mortal men who looked on her visage because, without makeup, she was jaw-dropping stunning in the way that was unfair to sunrises and snow-capped mountains.

Her clean face was far from flawless. Pale dark circles betrayed countless sleepless nights; pinking cheeks communicated too much time in the sun. The light dusting of freckles drew the gaze up to her own green ivy eyes, blinking at him from behind mascara-free lashes.

Jocelyn Hart, angel-or demon-wore makeup to mask her true, unfettered self for the sake of the mere mortals who crossed her path daily. It was like a glimpse at her vulnerable soul because, like it or not, Jocelyn's face showed every emotion, every thought, and every revelation.

And all he could say was, "Huh."

"Shit," Jocelyn responded, alert now. "Is there something on my face?"

"No!" Callen objected a little too vehemently, then schooled his face into passivity. "You look fine."

"Uh huh." She blinked at him impatiently. "Why am I awake?"

"We're going out for breakfast."

"Saturday breakfasts start at ten or later. Doesn't everyone know that?"

"Not at Patrick's Roadhouse. We need to get a table before they're gone."

Jocelyn let the door swing open as she began a frenzied search for her toiletries and clothes. "At least let me take a shower and put some makeup on."

"I'll give you two minutes to shower."

The detective halted her dig long enough to throw him an arch look. "Aren't you bossy when not on the job?"

He only smirked and slammed the door. "Two minutes, Princess!"

* * *

"Wow," Jocelyn smiled as when she laid eyes on Patrick's Roadhouse. "That is...not what I was expecting."

The building was visible from blocks away, blazing kelly green in the morning light. It faced the ocean, a strange, Irish landmark on the California shore.

"Best pancakes around," Callen remarked proudly.

"This place looks like it was built by leprechauns."

"This place is a quality establishment, highly rated and historic. Just give it a chance."

The restaurant was bustling as Callen made his way to the hostess station. "Miller, party of two."

The hostess led them through the throng to a booth facing the ocean. After handing them each a menu, she shuffled off again to help another table.

Jocelyn flipped through the menu bemusedly, her eyes teasing him above the folder. "Miller, party of two?"

"What? You try living in my line of work and giving your real name in public places."

"Because this is exactly the place for henchmen to hang out," she retorted sarcastically. "Since when do you need a reservation to eat breakfast?"

"Since this place makes the best breakfast around." He put his menu down and glanced at Jocelyn. "So what are you having?"

She thought for a moment. "Probably the eggs on wheat bread with fresh fruit."

"Ugh," he sighed. "Are you one of those girls that eats like a rabbit? You know, lettuce and carrots and shit?"

"No," she contradicted pointedly, "I just like to take care of myself."

A perky waitress stepped up to their table, pulling a pen from her bun. Her name tag read 'Stephanie', emblazoned with a shamrock on the corner. "Can I start you off with a coffee?"

"Coffee for me, please," Jocelyn answered.

"The same, and two stacks of pancakes."

"Just one stack," Jocelyn interrupted. "I'll take the eggs."

"She'll take the pancakes," he contradicted. "The tall stack."

She smiled tightly at the waitress. "Can you come back?"

The waitress looked between them before walking away.

"Joce, eat the pancakes."

"I tell you what," she tapped her fingertips together. "I'll make you a deal."

Callen was curious. "I'm listening."

Jocelyn looked pleased with herself. "You want to prove a point, and so do I."

"What point is that?"

"You need a mattress."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do." Jocelyn crossed her hands. "How badly do you want me to eat those pancakes?"

"You're just being stubborn."

"Yes, and so are you."

He leaned in. "Okay, but a mattress is worth more than four pancakes. Eat eight, and we've got a deal."

"I don't even know if my stomach's that big!" Jocelyn laughed.

"We won't know until you try. If you eat all twelve, I will get a mattress."

She pondered her options for a moment. "Only if you get it today and take me with you."

"Shopping? With you?" He was skeptical.

"Pancakes?" she countered.

"They aren't that bad."

"Yes, but I'm more than happy to milk this for all it's worth. Seriously; how can you not have a bed!"

"I don't need it," he replied easily.

"Don't you ever take girls back to your place?"

"No."

"Dude, you need to get laid."

"Oh, I get mine," he gestured at his chest. "Ladies can't get enough of this."

"You ready to order yet?" The waitress had returned.

Jocelyn regarded the waitress. "Would you date a man without a mattress?"

Stephanie responded without blinking. "No, never."

"See?" Jocelyn replied pointedly.

"But I don't ever need to take girls back to my place."

"So you're one of _those_ guys?" Stephanie interrupted.

He looked up at her, surprised. "What?"

Jocelyn and Stephanie shared a knowing glance. "The kind that will sleep with you, maybe even go on a few dates, but you never commit."

"That's what I said," Jocelyn agreed. "What do you think, Gabe? Should I have the pancakes?"

Callen glared at Jocelyn before turning to the waitress. "Three orders of pancakes with bacon, please."

* * *

"Oof," Jocelyn collapsed on the first mattress she saw. "Never. Again."

Callen stood over her, amused grin on his face. "I don't think I've _ever_ seen a woman eat _that_ many pancakes."

"You dared me!"

"I didn't think you'd eat them _all_! You could renege anytime!"

"You underestimate the power of a stubborn woman."

He gestured at her prone form. "Clearly."

Jocelyn patted the spot next to her. "Join me."

"Why is this so important to you?"

"Every man needs a mattress… and I ate twelve pancakes for this."

Sighing, Callen lay down beside her.

"What do you think?" Jocelyn asked, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on her elbow.

"Too soft."

"Okay, Goldilocks." She peeled herself off of the bed.

A salesman approached them. "Can I help you?"

"Yes!" Jocelyn jumped up, then groaned at the motion. "This man needs a mattress."

He smiled knowingly. "If your preferences differ as a couple, we do have adjustable beds."

"We're not a couple." Callen interrupted. "And I don't need a bed."

Jocelyn grabbed his arm, turning away from the associate. "I held up my end of the deal, you need to hold up yours."

He gritted his teeth. "Fine."

"We'll just browse," she smiled at the salesman.

The store had mattresses of all sizes, ranging from low to high end. The rows stretched across the room, blazing white in the sunlight. Jocelyn bounced on the edge of a king-sized bed.

"Come on, Gabe. Give it a try. It's as hard as the floor in your empty apartment."

"Why would I buy a mattress that feels like the bed I sleep on now?"

"Oh," Jocelyn scoffed, "What you sleep on is _not_ a bed."

"It's called a bedroll."

"Yes, and it's used in the field, or for camping. Soldiers in the Middle East sleep better than you."

"I've told you: I barely sleep anyway."

"And I told you," she teased, poking his chest, "if you had a halfway decent mattress, you'd sleep more."

Callen tested a mattress with his finger. "I honestly doubt it."

"Ooh!" Jocelyn squealed. "This is the same as my bed! You said you liked that one."

Skeptically, he lowered himself onto the cushion. He ran his hands over the fabric, analyzing the material.

"You like?"

There was no verbal response, but Callen pulled his legs up and lay down. "Something's missing."

Jocelyn climbed on with him, lying shoulder-to-shoulder with the agent. "Better?"

A contented sigh escaped his lips in response. He would never admit to it, but her presence completed the bed. Despite everything, she had a way of getting him to do things even Sam couldn't help with. He knew that she didn't come with the bed, and he wouldn't sleep as soundly without her, but it was as close as he could get.

"Sold."

"I win!" Jocelyn squealed before rolling lethargically onto her side.

He grunted in response. "I'm not buying a bedframe."

"I can live with that." Just for fun, she let herself flop onto his chest.

For a minute, neither of them moved. It made no sense that this woman could make him feel so comfortable and confused all at once, but he did know that he'd die before anything would happen to her. Close to sleep, he allowed his eyes to drift shut for the first time in days.

"Ahem." The sales associate interrupted them.

Callen sat up reluctantly. "I'll take it."

* * *

"So," Jocelyn prattled on as they sped back to his home, mattress tethered to the roof. "Once we get this set up, we should order pizza and watch TV."

Callen had a hard time concentrating on the road, he wanted to laugh so hard. "I don't have a TV."

"I know," she smiled back at him, wind running through her untethered hair. "You know, there's this space age thing called the internet where they put all the shows. It's time to introduce you to online streaming."

The detective's giddiness was contagious. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Being right?" She winked coyly. "Just a little bit."

He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on! It's time you learned to join normal society, where we binge watch Netflix, use beds for sleep—among other things—" another wink "—and have actual fun in our free time!"

"That sounds like a highly ineffective use of time."

"And cleaning your arsenal over and over is?"

Callen shrugged. "They need to be ready."

"For what? The apocalypse?" Jocelyn teased. "Because that shit is totally going down in Suburbia, California."

"Doesn't it in all the movies? LA, New York, DC, they're all interchangeable in those end-of-the-world films."

They'd pulled up at his house. Jocelyn assisted him in untying the mattress.

"Yes, but those always start with landmarks. You know; the Hollywood sign or the Capitol Building."

"But it's true; I will be ready."

A fond smile played on Jocelyn's lips as she hefted her end. "And you'll be in the middle of the action, won't you, Gabe?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

"Asshole."

"It's exciting to experience you like this."

She cocked an elegant brow at him. "How do you mean?"

"For the first time, you're acting human." At her inquisitive gaze, he continued. "Don't get me wrong, you're still that brat of a Princess I've come to know, but you're less pretentious now."

"Human, huh? Well, I guess we get along better when we're not playing cop."

It was true. In the absence of badges, they'd forgotten how volatile their relationship could be.

Jocelyn adjusted her grip with a grunt. "That may be the case, but you've been uncommonly helpful with Sophie's case."

_Oh, shit_, Callen balked, nearly tripping on the threshold. _Did she know?_

"Your advice has been super helpful. I mean, I resented you at first, but for the first time, I'm making headway. They threw me off the case, but someone's still looking into it."

"What?" he feigned surprise.

"Yeah, someone ordered more tests on Sophie's body."

"Huh." Callen kicked their package into the corner. Done, he turned to her with a convincing smile. "Any idea who?"

"Nope, but I have no plans to get in their way." She slid a devious look his way. "That doesn't mean I won't continue investigations of my own."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"You, of all people?" Jocelyn snorted. "You're the last person to be turned off to their life mission."

She was right, Callen acknowledged with a nod. "Just…be careful."

"Always," she grinned cheekily. They both knew caution came last on her list of priorities. "In the meantime, however, you and I are going to eat pizza and watch some Breaking Bad."

* * *

Darkness spread across the hardwood floors, the only light emanating from Jocelyn's computer. Callen's bedroll lay forgotten in the corner; the twosome sprawled on the mattress watching their fourth episode of _Breaking Bad_. The blankets thrown across them were from Jocelyn's apartment, brought over the previous night. Her scent wafted up to him not just from the prostrate form beside him, but the coverings as well.

The episode ended and Callen looked to Jocelyn. "Ready for another one?"

A soft snore sounded in response. He laughed quietly. _Of course she'd fallen asleep._

It was a short distance to lean to whisper into her ear. "Hey, Princess, time to get up."

She didn't move. He nudged her gently; Jocelyn lolled onto her back. A smudge of pizza sauce marred her chin. Callen glanced around self-consciously, just to check if someone was watching, before wiping it away. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered. For a second, he wondered if placing a pea under the mattress would bruise his Princess's back.

_Not my Princess_, he reminded himself. In that moment, he wished she was. After all, not many gorgeous women graced his bed. Even fewer had the spark Jocelyn Hart had. This weekend was dangerous; he'd almost started to see her as something more than…whatever she was.

_Get a hold of yourself, G_.

Groaning, he rolled onto his back beside Hart and let sleep take over his consciousness.


	18. Chapter 18

NCIS Special Agent was the perfect position for Callen. He loved thrill of the chase, the rush that came from putting the final pieces of a mystery together, the exhilaration of success...

But Callen was _not _a fan of stakeouts. Stuck in a stuffy-albeit sweet-ride with Sam for undetermined hours set him on edge. Usually he'd let his mind wander, but he wasn't too happy with where that road led...namely the soft curves that graced his bed the previous night. The Challenger's engine was off, windows rolled down. That was fine, too, because he and Sam could never agree on stakeout music. He just sat there in the passenger seat, sucking on a tootsie pop, while Sam continued his ritual of mangling the wrappers into barely-passable origami.

"So..." Sam started.

Callen's jaw tensed before he could stop it, so hard he cracked his candy. He recognized that tone, the one that said, 'we're going to talk about your life choices now and there's nothing you can do about it.'

If he'd grown up with parents, he assumed that would be the tone they'd use to set him straight when he played the wayward teen. A subtle glance through the window had him planning mental escape routes and wondering why he agreed to take this case anyway.

_Oh, yeah. He asked for it_.

"So," Sam said again, sending another ripple of trepidation through Callen's body. "Where were you this weekend? We were supposed to go for a run yesterday morning."

Callen crunched the remaining candy resolutely, hoping the question would pass, but Sam just stared him down.

"I forgot," Callen supplied weakly after a whole minute of uncomfortable glares.

Sam could have smelled the lie a mile away, so attuned was he to his partner's evasive ways. "I tried calling you, but your phone was off. What were you doing?"

Though his mind screamed ABORT! ABORT! Callen knew there was no getting out of this. Maybe the truth would be enough and Sam would shut up. "I was at Patrick's Roadhouse."

Sam threw him a look of pure betrayal. "G, I thought that was our thing!"

Callen shrugged. "And I can't go without you?"

"That depends on who you were with."

"Come on, Sam! Who would I hang out with besides you?"

"Huh," Sam laughed to himself. "Answering a question with a question? What are you hiding from me? Who were you with?"

Callen reached for a fresh tootsie pop. "You sound like a jealous girlfriend."

"Only because you're hiding something." Sam exclaimed, snatching the candy from his partner's hand. Callen made a grab for it, but Sam eluded him. After two more tries, the blonde agent gave up.

"I was with Hart, all right?"

Sam nearly dropped the tootsie pop in shock. "What? Are you two dating now or something?"

"No, it's nothing like that." Callen snatched the candy back with a pointed glare. "She just needed some cheering up."

"Cheering up?" Sam scoffed. "since when do you go out of your way to cheer a girl up?"

"Have you ever seen a girl cry?" Callen asked around the sucker.

Sam shook his head. "Quinn doesn't cry."

"Because CIA operatives are so hardened?"

"You should be used to it! Deeks has already shown us LAPD detectives cry, a lot." They shared a brief laugh. For all his bravado, Deeks was his own special brand of emotional.

"So why was she crying?"

"She wasn't crying-not yet."

"I see." Sam leaned back in his chair like the wealth of womanly knowledge he thought he was. "You stopped the onslaught."

"Have you _seen _Hart cry?" Callen asked, twisting his face into a mocking imitation. "I don't understand why anyone as gorgeous as her could be such an ugly crier."

"Ugh." Sam made a face. "Why were you even with her in the first place? I thought you were avoiding her like the plague."

"You heard her apartment flooded?"

Sam nodded.

"Well, I offered her my house to crash."

Mercifully, Sam chose to gloss over that lapse of judgement, at least for the time being. "So what was she not yet crying about?"

"She cut her hair," Callen muttered, fully aware of how ridiculous he sounded.

"She cut her hair," Sam repeated with loud disbelief. "And you took her to Patrick's?"

The truth was out, Callen figured there was no harm in going for broke. "And bought a mattress."

"Wow," Sam breathed, leaning back in his seat. "She's got you wrapped around her little finger."

It was Callen's turn to scoff. "No, she doesn't."

"Let's review the evidence, agent. You let this girl move into your home, and when you find her upset, you take her out to our spot?"

"It's not like Patrick's belongs to you!"

"And then you bought a mattress?"

"It is surprisingly helpful with my insomnia."

"No shit, Sherlock!" Sam laughed. "My problem is that I could never get you to even buy a CHAIR, let alone a full on MATTRESS. Then this girl comes along-who you claim no interest in-and she takes over your life!"

A slow grin spread across Callen's face. "You're not _jealous_, are you?"

"Psh," Sam spat, folding his sizable arms over his sizable chest. "I'm secure in this relationship."

"But?" Callen pressed.

"I just think you should be careful with how close you're letting her get. When you two met, I swear you were going to have her deported just to remove the temptation. Now she's living in your house ans sleeping on your mattress."

"How'd you know she's sleeping on the bed?" Even Callen was baffled.

"She's a woman and you're a gentleman when you make up your mind to be. I'm right, aren't I?"

Callen straightened. "Yes, she sleeps on the bed."

"Oh, no, G," Sam leaned forward. "You aren't _sharing_, are you?"

"Of course not!"

"You just said the bed helps with your insomnia!"

"Fine! It seemed like a good solution! After all, we've already slept together at her place."

"Yes," Sam laughed darkly. "It's only logical to continue close physical proximity with the one woman who drives you out of your mind with lust until the inevitable consummation."

Callen crossed his arms and looked out the window, sulking.

"Don't tell me you've done that, too!"

"No!" he protested, deeply affronted. "What's wrong with you! I set a rule and I intend to keep it: no relationships with anyone who with their own set of handcuffs."

"Uh huh," Sam smirked. "She's still got you whipped."

"I tell you what," Callen challenged his partner. "Come home with me tonight and I'll prove it to you."

"I don't know, G," Sam teased good-naturedly. "I think three might be a little crowded on that mattress."

Callen boxed his partner's arm in reply.

* * *

"Shit."

The smell of expertly seasoned meat assaulted Callen's nose the moment he entered the house. He'd forgotten their bet; she owed him a steak dinner. Of course it was tonight, it was their last evening together.

That thought filled him with panic for a split-second before he remembered a more pertinent reason to panic: Sam. His partner was standing in the entryway, hands on his hips, victorious smile written all over his smug face.

Callen shot him his deadliest glare. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything," Sam stifled a laugh.

"We had a bet, she lost," Callen tried to explain. "The prize is steak."

"She isn't cooking, is she?"

"No, the wager was for takeout."

_I hope_. The idea of Hart fiddling around his kitchen, apron around her hips, suddenly felt very invasive. If he ever wore a tie, now would be the time to loosen it.

"Gabe?" Jocelyn's voice floated on the scent of the food. "Is that you?"

The question, innocent as it was, sounded decidedly wifely.

This is my nightmare, Callen cringed as Sam held in another chuckle. "Yeah."

Footsteps brought the voice closer. "You'd better eat the food while it's hot or-oh."

She stopped short at the sight of Sam Hanna in the living room.

The betrayer managed to compose himself long enough to greet the object of his amusement. "Hey, Hart."

"Hey yourself." She turned to Callen. "If I'd known you were bringing him, I could have bought more."

_There it is again,_ he thought. Sam blinked down at him, face syrupy sweet and innocent. "Yeah, Gabe. Why didn't you tell her?"

The blonde agent elbowed his partner sharply in the ribs; Sam took a well-advised step back. "Because he isn't staying, Hart."

"Right," Sam coughed. "I just need to speak with him privately for a second."

Jocelyn shrugged and returned to her work. Callen braced for the onslaught.

"So, is this where the magic happens?" Sam asked, gesturing at the mattress. It was, of course, the only furniture in the house, so he already knew the answer. "Nice blanket."

The blanket in question-and the sheets, for that matter-sported a vaguely geometric sage green pattern. They were undeniably Hart's.

"If you've got a problem with me, now is the time to share." Callen spread his arms, but his tone was anything but inviting.

"My problem isn't with you, not exactly."

Callen folded his arms across his chest. "So you have a problem with Hart."

"Not her either."

"Then what is it? Because you certainly enjoy giving me a hard time about Hart."

"I have no problem with Hart. I do, however, have a problem with what she does to you."

The icy glare Callen pointed at his partner could freeze a lesser man, but after so many years of partnership, Sam was immune.

"You two are both good and bad for each other. She's the first woman I've met who can get through to you. Even I couldn't get you to consider, let alone purchase a mattress, and you buy one within weeks of meeting her. You look good; healthier."

"I fail to see the bad in that."

"The kind of relationship you two have-that kind of chemistry is dangerous. It's painfully obvious you're living indenial. The things you've been willing to do, professionally, for a woman you claim has no special significance to you...that just doesn't happen. Not even with Tracy."

Callen started. "Don't bring Tracy into this. Hart isn't Tracy."

"Exactly! So why are you even avoiding this?"

"You know why," the blonde agent whispered dangerously.

"Because she didn't come back for you? Hart's less competent than Tracy and she risked her life for you."

"Wait-do you _want _me with her?"

"I want you to make up your mind. You've never been the most conventional agent, but you're a focused one. With Hart, it's like you're in limbo. I'm worried about you."

"You just said I'm healthier than you've seen me in years."

"It's true, but I've seen you on this road before. You need to decide before you end up dragging yourself through the dirt."

"Damn it, Sam!" Callen cursed. "Why should I have to decide? Things are fine the way they are for now. I'm actually enjoying myself; why do you have to ruin it?"

"Grow up, G. It isn't just you I'm worried about. Despite what she may say, Hart has fallen for you, hard. Get with her or don't, I won't tell you which. You make important decisions every day as G. Callen, special agent, but you won't make any as G. Callen, the adult."

Sam was right, but like a stubborn child, Callen refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he stood stock still and stared his partner down.

"I thank you for your concern, but I already know that I won't be in a relationship with anyone, let alone Hart and her handcuffs."

"Right," Sam nodded stiffly. "I'll show myself out."

* * *

Jocelyn didn't mean to eavesdrop, but Sam's deep voice carried in the shell of a house. She'd heard every word, and Sam's words were as convicting to her as she hoped they were for Gabe. Fresh respect for the dark agent bloomed, but her heart seized as she realized her presence was holding Callen back. He WAS a child when it came to decisions like these. Walled away by seemingly reasonable rules, the casual observer couldn't even tell they were guards against grown-up risks, like life and love. After all, Callen risked his life every day. She finally understood her selfish desire for him could only end badly.

Their day together yesterday had done nothing for the feelings she nursed. For Tom's sake, she even pretended to sleep longer just to feel his body wrapped around hers. It was an unrequited schoolgirl crush, the most tragic kind, and she was too self-serving to give him up.

Not willing to let on that she'd heard any of their conversation, Jocelyn simply nodded at Callen when he entered the kitchen. Callen offered no explanation.

"Everything okay?" she asked instead of the million questions bouncing around her head like ball bearings in a pinball machine.

"Fine. Everything looks delicious."

Jocelyn faked a smile. "Dig in."

Conversation halted. The only sound in his still unfurnished kitchen was at of knives against forks and forks against china. It was all hers, he noted with chagrin. Plates, knives, forks, glasses, wine goblets-hell, even the dishtowels were hers. Callen couldn't tell what he minded more: the way Hart infiltrated his life or the way he kind of liked it.

They'd established a tenuous equilibrium over her stay. Jocelyn didn't make any advances and he didn't overreact to her presence. Were it not for the incessant sexual tension following them around like an elephant in the room, he might even admit to enjoying himself.

He'd definitely enjoyed sleeping next to her. Once his arms subconsciously made their way around the curve of her waist, the terrible nightmares were replaced with blissful peace. She would leave tomorrow, and he dreaded sleeping alone.

Why did Sam feel the need to break the illusion? When every decision of every day was life or death, willful ignorance of the consequences of his and Hart's friendship was therapeudic. He'd begun to count on her presence, even envisioned about more trips to Patrick's Roadhouse...or taking her nowhere at all. That line of thought was dangerous, and in no way in line with his "no handcuffs" rule. Indeed, handcuffs played a prominent role in that fantasy.

Silence was deafening; she smiled awkwardly at him over a bite of steak and he briefly wondered if she could read his thoughts.

"So are you looking forward to going home tomorrow?"

"Why? Looking to get rid of me?" she teased.

"Not at all," Callen answered around a mouthful of green beans. "If you need to stay longer, I'd have no problem."

Jocelyn's face flashed a REALLY? look, but it was gone before Callen could register it.

"I need to get back. My piano's a mess and my entire wardrobe needs to be dry-cleaned. Best get started before my clothes begin to mold."

"Let me get this straight-you're choosing clothes over me?"

"And a piano!" Jocelyn corrected. "I don't think I could live without one."

"Uh huh."

"Gabe." Her voice was tender, coaxing Callen to giver her his full attention.

And her phone rang.

"Shit!" she cursed, fumbling for the device in her pocket. "It's the building. I have to take this."

"Go ahead."

* * *

"Please tell me you're calling with the go-ahead to move back in," she pleaded with the landlord when finally alone.

"Ms. Hart," the landlord's tone betrayed the bad news. "In repairing the ruined pipes, the workers made an error which caused them to burst again."

"Again?" Despair edged its way into her voice.

"We've fixed the problem," he soothed, "but your carpets require a extra twenty-four hours to dry."

Shit, shit, shit, Jocelyn swore inwardly. Even with Callen's offer to let her stay longer, she couldn't bring herself to impose on his hospitality any longer-especially after Sam's pep talk.

She wanted to stay, so desperately, so selfishly, but they'd reached an impasse. Jocelyn could no longer play innocent; his words to Sam indicated both attachment and denial of said attachment. If she respected him at all, she would leave.

"Is the apartment open?" she finally responded.

"I beg your pardon?

"Can I still get into the apartment?"

"Oh, absolutely, but I wouldn't recommend sleeping there. The fans will be on through the night, drying out the carpets."

"I don't mind. I'll sleep on the balcony if I have to." After all, she had a sleeping bag and camping pillow in the top of her closet. They'd likely be dry. She'd just have to get in touch with her campy side-not a far stretch from what she'd been doing with Callen for the past three days.

"Ms. Hart, I don't recommend that."

Squaring her shoulders, Jocelyn responded more forcefully then necessary. "I know, but that's what I'm going to do."

It was Callen's turn to ask if Jocelyn was okay, but she spoke before he had the chance.

"Well, that was my landlord. He says he needs me to do a final check of the apartment tonight, then I'm all set to move back in!"

It was a bald-faced lie. Jocelyn prayed he wouldn't pick up on it.

"That's great!" he smiled, that devastatingly easy grin that made her want to kiss him. Suddenly, the idea of leaving became very difficult indeed. She needed the timeline to pick up, NOW.

"I need to be there in half an hour," Jocelyn lied smoothly, "so I've got to pack up now."

"Now?" Callen's voice was evenly metered. Jocelyn wasn't sure if the hint if disappointment was imagined or not. "What about.." he glanced at the meal in front of them "...dinner?"

"You'll enjoy it better without me anyway. I've taken advantage of you for long enough." The double meaning behind the words was not intended, but once they were out in the open, Jocelyn realized how much she meant them. A fluid shrug covered her insecurities. "You can continue Breaking Bad without me, I know how it ends."


	19. Chapter 19

Five minutes later, she was gone with all her belongings, leaving Callen to wonder what caused the about-face in her behavior. The unspoken stalemate in their relationship meant that he couldn't break protocol and ask her how she really felt. It was unlike him to talk about emotions anyway; they only talked like that if it had to do with a case or Sophie. Watching Hart's smile mask drop into place was like watching her retreat into the person she was when he met her: magnetic but guarded. Over the course of the weekend, Callen had begun to figure out how Jocelyn's mind worked, only to discover she was as changeable as the wind.

He grabbed his steak-now on a paper plate-and sank onto his sheet-less bed. The house had always been empty, he reminded himself. He didn't mind when he moved in. But now, in Hart's absence, it felt hopelessly desolate.

One thing was for certain: he wouldn't sleep tonight.

* * *

"We're going out," Jocelyn called into the new Deeks family abode.

Three surprised faces turned to greet her, but Jocelyn kept moving to avoid registering just how invasive she was behaving.

Jocelyn had tried to stay in, but the apartment was unbearably damp and cold. There was no running water and, as warned, the carpet fans whirred incessantly. She'd lasted all of three minutes before grabbing two dresses, a pair of heels, and her makeup bag. She changed and done her hair and makeup in the building's public bathroom before speeding over to Kayla's house.

Kayla recovered first. "That key was for emergencies."

"This is an emergency!" Jocelyn breezed past Andy and Deeks to Kayla's side. "You've been slaving away, preparing this house all week and now you need a night out." She turned to Deeks. "You can spare her for a few hours, can't you?"

Deeks cleared his throat, but Kayla stopped him with a nearly imperceptible shake of her blonde head. He chose to nod instead. Jocelyn was in rare form; he knew better than to get in her way.

"I'm afraid all my dresses are packed still."

"That's okay!" Jocelyn chirped. "I brought you a dress. We aren't the same size shoes, but I'm sure you can dig out something appropriate." She draped the garment over Kayla's shoulder.

"Kaye, can I have a word?" Deeks asked his wife shortly.

He all but pried Kayla away from Jocelyn, leaving her alone in the room with Andy. At eight years old, he was a peculiarly observant child, well attuned to everyone around him. Jocelyn suspected it had something to do with the fact that his grandmother-figure was a shrink, but no one could really be certain.

"Hi," she greeted him.

"Hi."

They fell silent, the only noise Kayla and Marty's hushed argument in the next room. The quiet made Jocelyn uncomfortably aware of how fast her heart was beating. She needed to slow down, but the last thing she needed right now was solitude. Instead, she fell back on the old standby: Kayla. Though Deeks and Kayla's marriage was a victory for her, right now, she needed old, single, Kayla to run out the door at a moment's notice.

"Are you okay?" Andy asked, more out of curiosity than concern.

Jocelyn forced a smile. "Yeah, kid, I'm good."

"You look pretty."

She knew it, but it was good to hear the words from the often painfully honest child at her side. Her wardrobe was low on dry and water-stained options, so she went with black jeans, suede heeled booties, low-cut sequined top, and favorite black leather jacket. The September nights were far too chilly to go without. Her hair was styled without a blowdryer, so she'd opted to spritz it with dry shampoo and let the natural curls shake out. Were her hair as long as before, it would be back in a slick ponytail. Alas, those days were gone.

"Joce?" Kayla reemerged, wearing the dress and flats that didn't match. Jocelyn didn't even care. She had to get out into the night and down one-or five-martinis.

"You look so good!" Jocelyn squealed, grabbing Kayla's hand. "Don't wait up!"

* * *

"Okay, Joce, what the hell is going on?" Kayla asked as Jocelyn took a sip of her drink. "Because we both know this isn't about me."

"Sure it is!" the detective insisted.

"You've got wild eyes, babe." Kayla gestured at the offending items on Jocelyn's face. "You may be trained to appear calm and collected, but I know better."

Jocelyn opened her mouth to object, but Kayla quirked an eyebrow. It was an easy move, practiced on children and adults alike, and highly effective.

"Fine."

"So what's this really about?"

"I'm moving on." Jocelyn announced.

"Oh?" Kayla struggled to keep a straight face. "Because the last time you moved on wasn't actually moving on?"

"Shut up." The brunette shot the blonde a withering look over her drink. "I have decided I have more self-respect than continuing to fall for a man who doesn't even want a relationship."

"Preach it, sister."

"I mean it! I've spent the better part of my adult life fighting for women to respect themselves, but I've done the opposite for myself. One night stands were better than this; at least I was in control. Happiness should not revolve around the fight for a man's approval."

"Not if it's so hard-won," Kayla nodded in agreement. "But you may want to cut back on the rants. You're beginning to sound bitter."

"I'm allowed to sound bitter. I'm a jilted woman."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. Get us another round of drinks and get over yourself."

Jocelyn stood begrudgingly. "You're such an encouraging friend."

"It's what you'd say to me in the same situation."

It was.

"But you're supposed to be the sweet, occasionally logical one. If I wanted a realist, punitive lecture, I'd give myself a pep talk in the mirror."

"Look," Kayla took her hand. "I agree with what you're saying. Callen _is_ a great guy, "but you're wasting too much heartache over this guy. You need to find a man who reciprocates your attraction and possibly even balances your personality."

"Is Kayla Deeks the monogamist, recommending a one night stand?"

"No!" Kayla shrieked. "I'm suggesting a rebound guy."

"Honey, they're the same thing."

"You're hopeless! Go get some drinks and I'll teach you the meaning of real relationships."

* * *

Jocelyn leaned on the bar and called to the bartender. "Dirty martini and a pinot noir, please."

Out of habit, she glanced from side to side, scoping out the bar occupants. Kayla said she needed someone, right? The balding guy in the corner grinned lecherously at her and she whipped her head back in the other direction.

_Now that's more like it_, she thought, spotting a much better specimen nursing a craft beer. He was the muscled epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, topped with perfectly coiffed brown hair. He must have felt her eyes on him, for he turned to her with a stunning smile.

_Meet cute_.

This was Jocelyn's specialty. Summoning her most seductive smile, she returned his smoldering gaze.

_Success_.

He moved to the seat beside her.

"Hi."

_Props for the lack of cheesy pickup line._

She looked up at his formidable height through thick lashes. "Hi yourself."

"Can I buy you a drink?"

_Straightforward. Even better._

"That's kind of you," Jocelyn demurred, "but I'm actually here with a friend."

"Oh?" Twin brows rose on his tanned forehead.

The detective indicated Kayla who was checking her phone.

"At least let me buy this round," he offered gallantly.

Thirty seconds into their acquaintance and Jocelyn knew that if this was six months ago, she would jump his bones. As it was, the only thrill she felt was the zing when she knew she'd reeled him in further.

"You don't have to."

As she spoke, the bartender slid the drinks over. She reached for her clutch, but her beau halted her hand. Jocelyn couldn't help but note the lack of electricity. Of course, this was only three hours after leaving Callen's side. He didn't have a monopoly on chemistry and she refused to leave her sexuality with him. Instead, she soldiered on with an almost-but-not-accidental caress of his hand. He squeezed her hand lightly in return.

"I insist."

Glancing down at their entwined fingers, his class ring forced her to forget the game.

"Is that a Francis Parker class ring?" she gasped.

"Yes." He turned his deep blue eyes on her smoky ones. "You went there, too?"

"Class of '99. You?"

"'97."

"Davis Kent, at your service."

She dropped a shallow curtsy. "Jocelyn Hart at yours."

"I _thought_ you looked familiar!" he exclaimed. "I was on the tennis team with your brother. You used to walk around with that Sophie, right? She was a sweet kid, I was sorry to hear when she passed."

Just like that, a shallow game of attraction turned into an unexpectedly genuine conversation.

Setting down her drink, Jocelyn allowed herself to relax. "For a second, I thought you were going to say you recognized me from the tabloids."

"I figured Evan was the more gentlemanly reference," Davis shrugged. "Besides, I haven't seen you in the tabloids since my college years."

Jocelyn sighed theatrically. "Yes, I've reformed my ways."

"What about now? Your brother mentioned you went into law enforcement."

"Indeed," she confirmed without elaborating. "I work for the great state of California. You?"

"Same. I'm an LA assistant district attorney."

That was impressive. "Well, doesn't that sound fancy."

"It's not as grand as it seems…just a lot of paper pushing."

"Not to mention putting the bad guys away."

"Well," he smiled modestly, "It does have its perks."

For the briefest moment, Jocelyn was lost in his eyes.

_Callen has blue eyes_. The thought shocked her right back.

"So what has Evan been up to?" Davis filled the awkward silence like a pro. "I heard he got shipped off to England."

"You heard correctly. He's running my father's holdings in London."

"And running the town's women mad as well, I expect."

"On the contrary; he's found himself quite the woman. They got married a little over a year ago."

"Good for him! He and I stayed in contact over the years, but it's been a while. It sounds like the entire Hart family has amended its reputation for torrid affairs."

"There's always room for lapse as long as I'm single," Jocelyn replied with a coy grin. As he laughed, her eyes drifted past her quarry to Kayla, still waiting for her drink. "It was nice to meet you, Davis."

He planted a playful kiss on her hand. "Likewise."

* * *

Jocelyn returned to Kayla's side, grin plastered on her face.

"_Who_ was _that_?" Kayla stared at Jocelyn's conquest, who was still watching her.

"_That_ was Davis Kent, a former classmate of my brother's. He paid for our drinks."

Kayla raised a glass at Davis but spoke to Jocelyn. "And why, exactly, did you come back to me?"

"I'm attempting to be a good friend. After what I pulled back at your place, you deserve a better. We were ranting about boys and shit!"

"_You_ were ranting about boys. I'm too busy staring at your man."

"He isn't _my_ man," Jocelyn rolled her eyes. "And you! What kind of newlywed are you, drooling over other men!"

"My husband is handsome enough, but I'm allowed to drool. I'm just forbidden to touch. Besides, I'd be a terrible friend if I kept him from you!"

"Your husband _is _gorgeous, and you have me to thank for it."

"I'm sorry, did you birth Marty?"

"He'd be prettier if he was."

Kayla's retort was interrupted by Davis.

"Sorry, I know you're with a friend, but I never got your phone number. And before you say no, know I can ask your brother for it."

Jocelyn's jaw dropped as Kayla smiled with glee. "My number?"

"Yes, so I can ask you out sometime."

A squeak made its way past Kayla's lips. Davis smiled, obviously stifling a laugh.

Kayla winked and held up a finger. "Just give us _one_ second."

Davis stepped away.

"I don't need to be forever in your debt over Marty. I can repay you by getting _you_ a man."

"Kayla—" Jocelyn started to object.

"No buts. I have to get home to Marty and Andy anyway. Enjoy yourself, sweetie."

"It's our night out!"

"I know you want to hang out with him."

"Yes, but—"

"What did I say about buts?" Kayla hushed her friend. "Speaking of buts, if you don't want to crash and burn, don't sleep with the guy until the third date."

"You didn't!"

Kayla hesitated. "Depends on what you count as dates."

There was a story there, but Jocelyn chose to ignore it. "What is it with you and celibacy?"

"This guy seems just about perfect. Have a drink and a normal conversation with a man who isn't playing sexual tug of war with you."

"No guy is perfect."

"I _dare_ you." Kayla set out the gauntlet.

"What are you, twelve?"

The blonde could taste the win. "I _dare_ you not to sleep with him until the third date. Then, if you still don't want him, you can drop him and move on like you usually do."

Jocelyn looked between Kayla and Davis, eyes narrowing. "It's on."

* * *

Jocelyn quickly discovered that so-called perfect men were utterly boring. This assessment seemed unfair at first; it wasn't Davis's fault that he was so amiable. A true gentleman, he was funny, smart, successful, charming, and kissed like a god. He opened the door for her, complimented her...and drove her crazy.

It was her fault, Jocelyn decided. She knew the value of a guy like Davis-any other girl would kill to have him. It felt utterly wretched to be this dissatisfied, but her feelings for him never went above lukewarm. Jocelyn tried to appreciate what she had, but she needed passion. She wanted to feel on fire for her partner-to love, laugh, fight, and then love some more. Davis was little more than a diversion, a distraction from her infatuation with Callen.

Granted, it wasn't working. When Davis would tell her about his day at the office, Jocelyn found her mind wandering to the infuriating agent.

_What was he doing?_

_Did he miss her?_

_Was he getting enough sleep on their bed?_

Four dates in and Jocelyn still didn't have the heart to invite him up to her apartment. Each night she went to bed alone, Callen found his way into her thoughts. Jocelyn couldn't remember the last time she'd gone this long without sex. Despite Davis's undeniable attractiveness, she couldn't stomach the thought of sleeping with him. Even his kisses paled in comparison to Callen's imperative caresses. Davis was far too gentle, too chaste. The sexual tension between the agent and herself was more satisfying than Davis's practised kisses.

The perks of dating someone of Davis's status were her consolation prize. He treated her to the best restaurants, the theater, even the most exclusive events of Los Angeles. After so many years away from the society scene, she enjoyed the excuse to play dress up. Davis, of course, paid for the jewelry and dresses. Gilded to the ears, she would greet him at her apartment. He never ceased to be amazed by how beautiful she looked, and he would tell her as much. Jocelyn would smile and kiss him dutifully, but always flashing back to Callen's awed face at her father's gala.

Fighting her feelings was useless; Callen had her before she knew she was gone...and she could never have him.

So whenever Kayla asked after Davis, Jocelyn would smile and supply a positive but vague reply. Kayla meant well, she always had. Since her marriage to Deeks, she only wanted her friend to feel the same happiness she did. Jocelyn couldn't bear to break her heart.


	20. Chapter 20

Without Sophie's case to look into (it was off limits and Jocelyn still couldn't figure out who was investigating), Jocelyn found herself getting antsy. When Kayla and Marty's housewarming party arrived, she was all too happy for the distraction. It would be good to hang out without Davis.

_Except…_

"Just a heads up, I invited Davis."

Jocelyn's head shot up from the tray of aesthetically decorated salmon pate on crackers. "You did what?"

The threat of Callen's presence was already putting her on edge. The last thing she needed was the man she was dating and the man she still wanted to date under the same roof. It was selfish of her to ask that Callen not be invited and her absence would be rude. This must have been what Kayla was trying to avoid when she forbade their intercourse at the wedding. Jocelyn chose to focus on the spiral of crackers on her plate.

"You guys have been dating for over a week, I figured you'd like to invite him. Sam's bringing Quinn and the kids; I figured another couple wouldn't hurt."

"How did you even get his number?"

"He gave it to me, just in case you 'lost' it."

"So you figured you could just call up my date?"

Kayla looked at her friend properly. "You're upset I invited your boyfriend?"

_Could she really be this slow?_ Jocelyn knew Kayla had little to no experience with Jocelyn's style of tangled relationships, but this was a new level of naiveté. "No. I'm upset you presumed to invite him to a party my fake fiancé is also in attendance. I'm not even Davis's girlfriend! We aren't labeling it."

"Oh." Understanding dawned. "I hadn't thought of that."

Her husband walked in at this uncomfortable moment.

"Did you know about this?"

"Know what?" Deeks glanced at Jocelyn apprehensively.

"Did you know Kaye invited Davis today?"

Deeks held up his hands defensively. "I didn't think she would actually go through with it."

Kayla shrugged. "I guess this explains his shock when I told him Davis was coming."

"You think?" Jocelyn fairly shrieked exasperatedly.

"It isn't that I'm not looking forward to seeing Davis square off against Callen," Deeks joked, "but I will be the first to say that this is a terrible idea."

"Will this be a problem, sweetie?" Kayla asked softly.

"I'll be fine. This party's important to you. I'll be on my best behavior."

"Good." Kayla nodded, returning to her appetizers.

Deeks shot Jocelyn a sympathetic look. At least she had two allies in the upcoming battle. A delivery trip to the living room with the salmon crackers.

The house really was beautiful. Jocelyn could only imagine the fights Kayla and Deeks engaged in to decide whose sofa stayed and whose TV went. From the looks of the décor, Kayla won most of those battles. It amused her to see Deeks put in his place from time to time, and Kayla seemed to know when and where to put her foot down.

The doorbell rang. Showtime.

* * *

_Worst. Party. Ever._

It may have been Callen's first housewarming party, but he swore it was his last. Sure, the food was delicious. Kayla was an exceptional chef. Everyone was having a marvelous time laughing at Deeks's jokes and touring the house. But the moment that bastard Davis walked in, everything went to shit.

At first, he'd been happy to see Jocelyn. She'd left his house so abruptly and he'd missed her. Then the Adonis of a man, Davis, entered the scene with a smile and a kiss. Jealousy sparked flames deep in his belly; Callen balled his fists. Barely ten days had passed since those lips captured his own. No one seemed phased by the fact that Jocelyn had a new beau on her arm. And why should they? No one knew of his attachment to her. He'd made it glaringly clear he felt nothing for her when Sam confronted him. But this? This was different.

As with any undercover operation, Callen blended into the shadows to observe the situation. Davis left Jocelyn's side only long enough to refresh her wine or fetch an appetizer. He was attentive, thoughtful, and romantic...everything Callen wasn't.

_Is this what Jocelyn wants?_ He tortured himself with the thought. He'd had his chance to have all of her more than a couple times and he'd resisted. In his selfish heart, he'd loved the fact he had a hold on her. Even after turning her down, he'd thrilled with the knowledge she was still stuck on him-that he could have her at any moment. Not that he would, of course; obedience to his own rules dictated he resist. No matter how hard he tried, Jocelyn Hart was branded on his mind.

In the agonizing moment Davis laid his lips on hers, Callen knew he no longer had her. Had he really expected her to stay single forever? Jocelyn Hart was, by all accounts, a man-eater, and the last few weeks had made her appear as good as celibate-with the exception of a few very passionate kisses.

_Mine_, the jealous soul inside of him insisted. His heart claimed her long before his body even dared. _Mine_.

_Maybe_, he bargained with himself, _maybe I can have her just once_. That was her offer in the beginning. _One night and I'll be clear of her._

_Liar_, his traitorous mind accused. _You'll never be free_.

* * *

_Freedom_! Jocelyn's mind screamed at her. _Air_!

The man at Jocelyn's side was stifling; she felt as though she couldn't breathe. He was, of course, the perfect gentleman. When wasn't he? Davis Kent was everything any girl would dream of...and she couldn't stand him.

"Sweetie?" She squeezed his arm; he leaned in to hear. "I need to go freshen up."

"You already look so beautiful."

He would say that, wouldn't he?

She stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I won't be long."

Jocelyn fairly burst out the side door. Green eyes turned to the sky as she gasped for air. This used to be fun. She'd cozy up to a gorgeous guy, whisper things in his ear, and within the hour, he'd be under her spell. It made her feel powerful and in control. Now, she wanted nothing to do with that side of her.

Those days were ruled by animal attraction. It had its moments, raw passion, but a lone agent changed her perspective. It was just her luck he was the one guy in the world not looking for passion...not looking for her. She'd been attracted to him in Italy, liked him in San Diego and, over the course of their weekend together, fell hopelessly in love with him. Jocelyn Hart wanted Gabriel Callen...for keeps. And she could never have him.

As if conjured by her thoughts, the object of Jocelyn's contemplation appeared beside her.

"Hey," Callen greeted, as nonchalantly as possible. Inside, he was boiling. "I haven't seen you since your apartment got fixed. How have you been?"

_Really? He was going to play stupid?_ Jocelyn's own temper flared. "Cut the bullshit, Callen."

She'd called him by his surname. It hurt more than expected. "I'm just being friendly. I noticed you got a boyfriend. Is that supposed to make me jealous?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she scoffed. "I simply realized baiting my feelings on a guy who doesn't want them in the first place is one of the more stupid things I've done, and you know just how many stupid things I've done."

"So you found a guy who appreciates you, is that it?"

"I'm surprised it got past your thick skull."

Callen peered into her unfathomable ivy orbs, but they were shielded. "He isn't right for you."

Surprised flashed across her face, instantly masked. "And who is? You?" Jocelyn retorted. "You have no right to tell me who I can and cannot date."

"Just...not him!" Callen waved his arms in frustration. "With his perfectly coiffed hair and biceps! What kind of a name is Davis, anyway?"

"What kind of a name is G?" she shot back.

He offered her a wry smile. "That's fair."

Sensing the upper hand, Jocelyn attacked. "At least he wants me."

Callen paced the balcony, frustrated. Green fire flashed in her eyes, her hands framed the curve of her hips. Damn her, he'd never wanted her more.

"Any man in his right mind wants you."

"Excluding you." Jocelyn gestured curtly at the agent.

Turning on his heel, Callen grabbed the detective firmly by the arm. She spun to face him and he pulled her hips flush against his own, returning her glare with his own icy blue stare.

"Especially me."

His lips swooped down on her surprised ones. Callen knew he had one shot to get this right, so he poured every ounce of desire into her mouth. He possessed her completely. These were dark, desperately demanding kisses, full of want. Her body responded enthusiastically without bothering to consult her better judgment. Their lips moved together as easily as breathing. Her hands, once placed against the agent's chest to push him away, now clutched him closer. It was only when Callen reached up to pull out her ponytail did she come to her senses.

_Smack_!

Her palm connected painfully with the side of his cheek.

"What the hell?" Callen released her to hold his face.

"I could ask the same of you!" she replied in a stage whisper. After all, her not-boyfriend was just inside. "I'm _taken_, and suddenly you admit to wanting me?"

"It's not like that!" the agent defended himself, desperate for her to understand.

"At least now you know how it feels to want what you can't have."

That got him. "Oh, don't deny you brought him here to make me jealous."

"Kayla invited him for me. I had no idea you were coming, too! I didn't even want to invite him!"

"Why? Because you didn't want me to meet him?"

"Yes!" Jocelyn shook her head. It was frustrating the way he could get to her. "No! I just didn't wan to introduce my boyfriend to my former fiance."

"_Fake_ fiance," he corrected. On impulse, he reached for her hand, but she pulled away. "We both know that wasn't real."

"Wasn't it?" She raised her eyebrows defiantly, but her voice caught.

Callen opened and shut his mouth.

"That's what I thought." Jocelyn crossed her arms, shielding her chest from view. "I'm not going to dump Davis just because you want me now. If that's the way your mind works, you'll lose interest the moment I'm yours."

"I'm not asking you to leave your boyfriend."

That got her attention. "What are you asking, Gabe?"

"I'm asking for what you offered when we met: one night. One night and we'll get past this. You'll be out of my system and all this tension will disappear."

It was Jocelyn's turn to be speechless. Of all the presumptuous requests he could make!

Her jaw went slack as she tried to gather her thoughts. Her hormones already begged her to take him up on his request. After all, she'd never met a man who set her nerve endings on fire like Callen. But she also had her dignity, and there was no way she would sell herself for one night. Not anymore.

"You want me to sleep with you, but not date you?" she scoffed, mentally cursing her own stupidity. "Right, I almost forgot; you don't date cops. Please, don't compromise yourself on my account." Even if she couldn't accept, she'd hoped he'd finally come to terms with his rules.

"Isn't that what you do? One night and done? I don't think I've heard you mention a single boyfriend until Davis."

"Yeah? Well that was before-"

"Before what?" he cut her off, curious.

_I am not going to admit to liking him before he does the same_, Jocelyn determined.

"I've changed, Gabe. I'm not looking for one night stands any longer."

"Don't tell me that prick Davis has turned you monogamist?"

"No," Jocelyn smiled proudly. "I just know myself well enough to know I deserve better."

What a revelation. Callen could only gaze on as she glowed with newfound respect for herself. He was a douchebag. Of course he couldn't have her for one night. In the deepest part of his heart, the part he rarely-if ever-acknowledged, he knew one night would never be enough. He knew her too well and was far too jealous.

"You're right," he agreed after a sigh. "You do deserve better."

"Thank you," she stood tall, with a strength that came from within. "Look, I respect your wishes, now you need to respect mine. If we ever cross paths, I will work with you solely as a colleague. There will be no more trips to Patrick's Roadhouse, no late night slumber parties, and no more kisses. What you and I have-" she motioned at the space between them "-doesn't even qualify as friendship."

He nodded curtly. "Understood."

It took Jocelyn a full five minutes to stop shaking and return inside. Mercifully, Callen left directly after their confrontation with a quick goodbye to the hosts. His reputation of loner made it easy for him to slip in and out; no one expected him to stay anyway.

Jocelyn, on the other hand, had to wait for her puffy, red eyes, to return to normal. The thought of facing Davis after such an illicitly passionate moment with Callen made it all the more difficult to step back inside.

But she did.

Kayla's eyes were on her the moment she walked through the door and, like any good friend, the brunette knew instantly that something was wrong. Eyebrows went up in sympathy, but Jocelyn shook her head to indicate it wasn't a good time.

* * *

_Put your brave face on, Hart._

Donning her winning smile, Jocelyn marched up to Davis and slipped an arm through his.

"Hey, beautiful," he kissed the top of her head. "Everything okay?"

_Cheater! Cheater_! The accusations rang like church bells in her head.

"Everything's fine," she grinned back and kissed him lightly.

_Could he taste the betrayal on her lips? _She wondered.

"Who wants a tour of the house?" Kayla asked suddenly. Every guest, save Jocelyn and Davis, nodded vigorously and beat a hasty exit stage left. Jocelyn resisted the impulse to roll her eyes; there were serious downsides when all your friends were trained investigators. All they had to do was look at Jocelyn's vaguely red-rimmed eyes to know what had just gone down.

Defeated, she sunk down onto the sofa with a sigh. Davis sat beside her, worry in his eyes.

"Is there something between you and that guy?" he asked softly, holding Jocelyn's hand.

"Who?" For a split second, Jocelyn wondered if she should play innocent. "Gabe?"

He dropped her hands. "_That's_ Gabe?"

It was Jocelyn's turn to be confused. "You know him?"

"A couple days ago, I called your brother to catch up. It was the least I could do to get his blessing to date you."

_So old-fashioned._ Any girl would swoon at the thought of her mate asking permission. Not Jocelyn. She was annoyed.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I was raised a gentleman, Jocelyn. A man doesn't date his friend's sister without permission. It falls under the Bro Code."

Jocelyn allowed herself a small smile, but Davis wasn't lightening up.

"The thing is, Evan was surprised to discover I was dating you, considering you were engaged."

_Damn_. Jocelyn knew parading Callen in front of her father as her fiance was a bad idea, but she'd never thought to consider the lie would go so far as her brother. Evan must talk more to her father than she suspected.

The truth was stickier than fiction. Admitting the engagement as a fake would burn "Gabriel Clarke" and implicate classified NCIS undercover operations, but it would clear her of any perceived feelings for Callen. Claiming the engagement was real meant owning up to a relationship with the agent. It would protect Callen, but she could lose Davis.

She chose the latter. "I was engaged to Gabe, but it lasted two days. We realized we didn't suit and broke it off."

"How recently was this?"

Which answer should she give? She'd broken with Callen so many times, it barely mattered. She went with the technical truth. "A little over two weeks ago."

"Two weeks," he repeated faintly. "And you're telling me this now?"

"We've been dating less than a week, Davis. I don't like to talk about exes."

"For good reason, apparently!" He stood and combed his hands through his hair. "Do you make a habit of hanging out with all your ex-fiancés?"

Jocelyn bristled at the implications. "Seeing as there's only one, I don't know if it qualifies as a habit."

Instead of riling him up, her tone snapped him back to her. Davis sat beside her again, not touching, but not shying away, either. "I like you, Jocelyn, I do. But I won't be your rebound. I'm looking for something committed and lasting."

"So am I!" Jocelyn blurted.

"Really?" he asked, his eyes testing the depths of her honesty. "Because I'm pretty sure something just happened outside between you and your ex. That doesn't exactly resound with commitment."

He was right. Jocelyn ducked her head in rightful shame, but he lifted her chin with two fingers.

"I had fun, Jocelyn Hart, but I knew from the start you were holding something back. If you ever get over that guy, let me know. I wouldn't mind giving this another shot."

In the week she'd dated Davis, Jocelyn had never felt more respect for him than she did in this moment. Leaning forward, she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Davis Kent," she sighed, "you really are a decent guy."

"I know," he grinned cheekily. "It is such a problem."

With that, he turned and left. The door shut behind him as the tour came traipsing down the stairs. They found Jocelyn frozen on the sofa. In one look, they knew what had happened.

"Oh, honey," Kayla soothed.

* * *

The partygoers dispersed quickly after that. Kayla forbade Jocelyn's departure, so the detective opted to drink wine on the porch.

"How you holding up, Sweetie?"

"I'm okay," Jocelyn slurred, swiveling in the lawn chair. "You're a bit blurry."

"And you're a bit drunk." Kayla lowered herself into the matching chair.

"Sorry I ruined your party."

"That's okay, I'll get you back for it later."

Jocelyn nodded slowly and took another sip. "You're a fair and just friend."

"You mind telling me what happened between you and Callen?"

A heavy sigh escaped Jocelyn's lips. "I yelled at him, He kissed me, I slapped him. He went away."

"I'm guessing there's more to the story than that."

It took Jocelyn more than a couple tries to stand. "There is, but I'm sick of it. I just want to go home and sleep. Tomorrow, I will reevaluate my life because I'm _obviously_ doing something wrong."

Mercifully, Kayla didn't object. "I'll take you home."


End file.
